Cain and Able

Cain, how you strive to strike me down! In a yellow field of whispering wheat, over which a cheerful sun doth shine, you raise your hand against me. But I have augured your lust for blood beforehand! I see what you are, and cast away your thin cloak of feigned chivalry. Illusions begone!

 
A new dawn of consciousness emerges: I become the blind seer– the only truthteller strong enough to strip you of your lies. As your hand of sin falls upon me, I raise an arm to the sky, and strike upon your brazen chin a firm fist that repudiates your body's blasphemy. You stagger backwards, and roar in fiendish agony, enraged. 
 

You yell out, “Devil, this is not what you have promised me! He was supposed to be docile and lame, and yet he fights, he fights fervidly! You have swindled me as though I am a fool!”
 

At his teary-eyed whining, an effulgent light emerges from above. Judgment comes to subjugate the apostate, the snake: Cain the envious.
 

 I’ve thwarted your butchery, and you are left shamed and bound in chains. Before me you stand, the cockroach you are, skittering about with excuses. Before me you stand, masquerading your repentance and in handcuffs. A thousand hours later and still, before me you stand! A pauper of the soul– destitute within your own self for tomorrow, tomorrow’s tomorrow, and forever after!