Beneath the boughs where sunlight weaves,
A hush lies deep in Eden’s leaves.
The air is sweet, the rivers sing,
And every hour’s an endless spring.
Yet there it stands—roots sunk in flame,
The Tree that whispers my secret name.
Its fruit glows red with truths untold,
A bitter taste wrapped in molten gold.
If I stay, the world’s a dream,
No shadow sharp, no broken seam.
A cradle built of light and peace,
Where questions die and doubts find cease.
But if I reach, I trade the sky,
For knowing how the sparrows die.
I’ll walk through thorns, through grief and night,
To chase the marrow of what is right.
And though the garden fades from view,
I’d choose the path that cuts me through—
For bliss is hollow without the thread
Of wisdom earned, by love, by dread.
So take the gates, let Eden close—
A mind that seeks is the one I chose.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf