Here is the tortured soul, that the earth feeds <br />devouring her plains, fields, weeds, and her sycamore trees. <br />spreading knowledge through her lands, here and there gathering his lambs. <br /> <br />Here is the tortured soul, who bears his own mark <br />A painful memory that still harks. <br />It bleeds and tears the skin, leaving the mark of the beast within. <br /> <br />Here is the tortured soul, sobbing in pain <br />never knowing of what he had gained. <br />The power to make the world black as tar <br />but he still reminded of his scar. <br /> <br />Here is the tortured soul, being kindled in the white flame <br />he has forgiven himself, and looks for no more shame <br />tired of the blame, all it has done is drain. <br /> <br />Here is the tortured soul, now accepting his name <br />he breathes for at last he is been tamed <br />he screams out loud, for his journey has come to end, <br />for what now? For Cain is dead.<br /><br />Jordan Couso<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tortured-soul-cain/
