deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Mark of Cain

Do you know pain forged in the crucible of fate?
The hallowed pain seems to grow in utter disdain
I speak from where the corpses hang
The mark of Cain, it�s burning with the deepest hate

What righteous brothers smother with blankets
Will renew the hate refound
Line up for slaughter, water turning red
Deny the faith that saves you

Murder the crows, visceral through forbidden shows
The bodies grow in tune when the bitter wine flows
Tattered lace in the undertow
The cold wind blows between the broken chapel rows

I am the crimson stain
On your wedding dress
I am gray clouds ahead
Skies torn asunder
I am the cracked mirror
Staring back at you
I am the cold north wind
I am, I am
The thunder

The blood of brothers smother tired hands
The reverb at every turn
The tears in nightmares, unfair and callous
Denied the dawn�s waking light

Do you know shame breeding within the grip of blame
The cleansing flames burning away all of the names
Inscribed on pictures like a game
They�re all the same, faceless but for the mark of Cain

I am the tears that reap
The sobs of despair
I am the dead cold grave
Where loved ones slumber
I am the painted face
To hide the scars
I am next winter�s touch
I am, I am
The thunder

(c) 2015 Frank Green