After our exile from that
holy place,
It seemed that every
stony, thorn-bound path
Led back to the high wall
and flame of wrath
Implacably convicting us
of sin.
And one day as I wandered,
questioning
The reason for the Tempter
and the Tree,
If knowledge were so high
a good, and we
Created to aspire, who was
at fault
That we had fallen? Could
it be, the thought
Of our being like Him had
called forth His ire,
Caused our expulsion by
the sword of fire?
Would nothing ever bring
Him to relent?
Each day I saw new
errors to repent:
Self-centeredness,
demanding from each face
An image of itself; and
new disgrace,
How favor shown to Abel bred Cain’s hate. . . .
Again I saw the Angel at
the Gate.
His face shone like the
Sun. I stopped, in doubt
Whether to go or stay.
Then he held out
His arms to me and said,
“May I come in?”
