COMMAND

Eden. Land of delight.
Shalom rests upon the earth.
Conflict and scarcity, categories yet to be imagined.

Within it, Paradise, a garden bounded by jealous kindness,
the Creator near enough to know and be known.
No threat can cross the threshold uninvited.

Blessing.
Privilege weighted with purpose:
Bear my likeness, commune with Maker and Made.

Command.
Freedom, to eat until sweetness fills belly and mind,
until the soul tastes Delight itself.
Only know the good. Only me.

Not seized but given,
bread and wine placed into open hands.
Abundance trained by boundary, like vines on a trellis,
heavy with fruit because they do not wander.
All is yours, yet remaining turns in the hand like water,
as the heart knows the faint edge of loss in what is forbidden.

Every taste, step, glance must bend toward the Source.
Bondage to this Good is freedom made whole,
the glad narrowing that keeps joy alive.

But—
to know even a whisper of ill
is to loosen the hand, to let delight slip,
to bind the soul to what cannot give life.