Eden
Before man spoke, he listened. Before he wrote, he felt.
The warming sun, the gardens will,
A godly work of plan and skill.
With greenest trees and sweetest fruits,
You need no clothes, you need no shoes—
But only Angels for your muse.
Weightless spirit, light of life,
As God approaches, time abides,
Everything stops, under clear eyes
They know just truth, ‘cause there’s no lie—
Eternal life, no pain, no cry.
Through, the perfection’s not there still,
Some bodies move with grace and thrill,
They look, they seek, something to fill,
That emptiness, which makes them squeal—
Has the Creation its own will?!
—Inspired by the Genesis—
ImPerFection is an inevitable consequence of perfection
Myself