Conversation Exchange

I stared God in the eyes on Hastings the other day
Oh to be his hand extended
Asking me for change
Grabbing at my garments
And in a voice so estranged said,
“Woe is me, even in all their lament the derelict are not worthy, so I weep.
Rewards lying beyond the gates, I’m afraid are mine own to keep.”

I could have paid him no mind, but instead gave per diem,
“Rewards are double-edged swords;
How poor are the heathens?;
The one who pours down the blessing
Is the creator of being.”