A Poem Without a Name

A question whispers as a breath

of life and as a kind of death

It speculates the fruitful tree

and why it must exist with Eve

and Adam in their perfect state

they could not have presumed their faith

Because everything they knew was free

from sin, and nothing did they see

was botched with something imperfect.

They stood before their God erect,

unashamed and satisfied

to walk under the ever-pines.

And God enjoyed them at His side

It seemed that nothing could divide

the bond that in between them held,

but now- the hosts of heaven felled,

and down upon the earth, a third

confused what earned that horrid word

that cast them from before the throne,

"Was He not pleased with our loud drone?

The words we sang with our great lips?

Our songs were not enough for Him."

And for the first they tasted dirt

and groveled in the awesome hurt

realized by the given choice

and haunted by that booming voice.

And now, forever, bounded to roam

the earth without ever a home

without a place to rest their heads.

Their bitterness all beauty shreds.

To live among creation now

with all that makes their jealous brow

furrow in the unbelief

that God, once theirs, would hide relief

and force them live among his sons.

With Adam, full of bliss, he runs

through grass and shade unto his bride,

in perfect love, no need to hide

their bodies from each other's gaze.

And in the glorious Sun they bathe

unaware of jealous rage

that lingers in the shadow's shade.

In hidden, vile hearts- an oath

was birthed out of their guiled loathe.

But since all deeds they practiced pleased

God who made the Garden's trees

"What could make these creatures fall-

to fill their hearts, familiar gall?

All we'd need a simple rule

to serve as a specific tool

to draw the creatures into doubt

and force their Lord to kick them out

of perfect pleasure, doomed to feel

the pain of losing what is real.

To use the rule that God had made

to draw them both into the shade

under the tree so they could eat

the beautiful forbidden treat."

A God of love! Could he provoke

His son to hate the words He spoke?

That He would grow within the midst

of perfect beauty, perfect bliss

a simple, growing tree with fruit

designed to steal immortal youth?

But Adam must have known the scheme

behind the tree. He never dreamed

that Abba would within contrive

a plan to confiscate the lives

of image bearers- infant babes

so innocent dependent they

just wanted nothing more than Dad

to walk with Him and make Him glad.

And Eve who set the standard of

a woman's understanding love

never once began to doubt

that Father wanted children out

of His Garden, made for them

for somethine they can't understand.

When Adam pruned a lucious peach-

enjoyed the blessed fruits in reach,

no doubt he saw the cursed fruit

and understood a simple truth:

Without commandments to abstain

one would not know how to obey.

No reason then to such adhere,

no purpose for a godly fear.

Such law's existence, not so trite.

T'was made to show Adam upright.

Was not a curse purposed to damn,

to make their goodness just a sham,

but rather was a tool to bless-

remind them of their righteousness.

A truth- that God cannot so tempt

his sons with evil. Such intent

denies the Father's innate good

and claims that such a diety could

blunder in His competence-

create something that gives offense

to His own name- a big mistake.

Omnipotence, it could not make

such an item in the ground

No. No such thing would there be found.

So on the day creation rang

for the first time all nature sang

together in collective song.

And in them one could find no wrong.

All joy, perfection, love, embraces,

no evil in the lowly places.

God created girl and boy

and one small rule to so employ

the joy that comes from obeying

what Almighty's words are saying.

But at the aforementioned word,

The Corruptor fell to earth.

And so from here the story goes:

He'll take the truth and give it bows

and ribbons- with a little twist-

something that you may have missed

if you forget about the fight

he'll sing you his sweet lullaby.

So arm yourselves; unsheath your swords

and listen to Almighty's words.

You'll see the question has been faced

and still God has not been displaced.

The question whispered as a breath

of life-corrupted into death.

I started writing this in Horner's English Lit. class during school. I got a little carried away.