Risen now, the sons of Cain,
Through the slurries of history
and open doors of kindness
No nature can contain.
Risen now, with violent distain.
Fearing now no act of god,
no judgement, nor, no hand of love
to force the stolen refrain.
Risen now, foul humanity again.
Reasonless, the rancid vultures,
ascended now; the descent of man
and corroded hope in vain.
Risen now, to the lowest plain.
A conscience void of life,
holding a society void of hope;
in the blood soaked hands of Cain.
Published by Peter Wyn Mosey
Peter Wyn Mosey is a full-time writer living in Llanelli, South Wales, with his wife, dog, and two cats. By day, he provides content, blogger outreach, and ghostwriting across a wide variety of niches and has had hundreds of articles published. He has written and performed comedy at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and has featured on Queen Mobs Tea House, Little Old Lady Comedy, and Robot Butt. He is Editor-In-Chief of The Finest Example and posts most days on https://peterwynmosey.com
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