Personal Eden

A key to His deedbox is draped around my neck, my soul in safekeeping is weighed by the consequence of corrupting forgiveness, taking it for granted and counting on a divine amnesty to save me after... I've defiled the garden, plundering grapes for my own and lazily anticipating the fermented bulk of ripe, inviting vines and the lawless passions of inebriation and I've shared the taint with restless souls too cowed to step away from prophetic certainty, yet on the edge of doubt where angels fall and demons climb into that middle realm where life always feels a lot like sin, and death a glorified damnation to rest eternity in a blessed or cursed extreme. Both promising return to the tempting core of Life, seducing weary servants into selling their identity in the name of a forever paradise, a universally packaged set of pleasure... the preordained pleasures of over and under, dark and light, heaven or hell, good or bad, of never yearning or forever yearning But my Eden lies between where I can afford to pay the consequences of my desires because I have reaped the rewards.