Command.

Eden—
land of delight.
Joy without shadow.

A place prepared
for life without striving,
fulfillment without grasping,
nearness without fracture.

Conflict and scarcity
were words not yet needed.

Holy.
Wholly good.

Within the land stood a garden,
enwalled not by stone
but by care—
a boundary shaped by jealous kindness.
Nothing entered uninvited.
Nothing escaped the sight of God.

Here came the first blessing—
and with it, weight.

To know and be known.
To walk with Maker and made.
To bear His likeness
in a world at rest.

After the blessing,
a command:
You are free.
The land is yours.
The garden is yours.

Eat.
Drink.
Let delight fill breath and thought
until the soul learns joy.

Yours,
so long as you know only Good.
Only Me.

Freedom given,
not seized.
Bread and wine
placed into open hands—
never forced,
never held tight.

Abundance within bounds,
like vines trained to a trellis,
heavy with fruit
because they do not wander.

All is yours—
yet the choice to remain
rests lightly in the hand,
easy to lose.

Joy overflows.
And still,
the faint edge of loss is felt
in what is forbidden.

Freedom,
the glad narrowing
that keeps joy whole.
To reach for ill
is to loosen the hand,
to let delight slip,
to bind the soul
to what cannot give life.