The earth, once whole, now drinks the crimson tide,
A whisper lost upon the silent air.
No seed may root where innocence has died,
For sorrow taints the land beyond repair.
What hand could strike and cast a soul away,
Denying love where once two brothers played?
Yet envy’s fire burned the fields that day,
And turned to dust the bond that fate had laid.
The heavens weep, but justice shall resound,
For Abel’s blood still cries beneath the ground.
The soil, once yielding, chokes upon his name,
Rejecting hands that once had tilled its clay.
The fields grow thorns, the sun withdraws its flame,
And shadows stretch to mark his darkened way.
For hands unclean may never grasp the sheaf,
Nor quench their thirst from fountains clear and bright.
Where blood is spilled, the ground recoils in grief,
And heavy silence swallows heaven’s light.
The wound remains, though time may shift the sand—
The stain of sin still lingers on his hand.
No home shall hold him, nor the hearth burn warm,
No walls shall rise to guard him from the night.
The howling wind shall take his name by storm,
And set his days adrift, devoid of light.
He walks alone, yet never shall he flee
The mark that binds his soul in bitter chain.
A name once spoken soft in infancy
Now echoes harsh with sorrow, guilt, and pain.
For mercy spares, yet bids him walk apart,
A restless wanderer with a broken heart.
The words still linger, cold upon the tongue,
A question wreathed in pride yet draped in sin.
Would heaven carve such bonds if they were none?
Would not the stars entwine the souls within?
O reckless hands that sever love with hate,
O bitter lips that dare deny their kin!
We are the keepers, bound by mortal fate,
Each life a thread the next must weave within.
No blood may fall unnoticed, nor unseen—
For love was made to mend where death has been.
