At the Garden’s centre, two trees stood
The journey of a lifetime goes from wood to wood.
Always too easy, saints of later day
Parents second guess, their faults gainsay.
As if, by means of grace to them unknown
We, of ourselves, their fate descry;
Its doom escape, forbear to die, unscathed triumphant
And with battle cry the Serpent trammel, undo his rant.
In righteous indignation adjudge the Source of life,
Call ‘uncleanness’ blood, and labour’s worthy strife
Just due for her duplicitous part
Held less than Man as if wrought by his art
Though in pain She gives birth.
So the Journey begins,
The story of our worth
The Record of our sins.
Onward now it winds through courses yet unknown,
Leaves of wrath fall from the tree further to be blown,
Bitterness of the life’s sap that sapped from us our life.
We thirst yet for another wherein life sap yet doth flow;
Wholesome Tree where we may taste and grow.
Another Adam at that Tree stands
Arms outstretched with open hands,
Receiving the fruit bitter found when we did test and eat.
Another Eve stands thereby, serpent ‘neath her feet.
They call us yet to be Create,
For we are but Dust before
That Moistness and the Breath
Giving life where lore
Taught us nought but death,
At the Centre of the Garden
The Place of Adam’s skull.
In pride Iblis disdained to bow
Would then he’d known the How
By Woman he should be undone
His wrath the method wherein Journey’s end
Should at the last be won
At the Centre of the Garden two trees stand.
meet the poet: Albert Jungers
