The man was a true believer,
He had faith in God’s existence
And spoke with him daily,
Without caring or bothering for a reply.

His neighbours thought he was mad,
They condemned and ridiculed his actions,
They accused him of heresy,
And of being in pact with the devil.

He worked hard every day, without fail
He did not complain, not once, of ill health.
And at the end of the day, he held up two sheets
Of paper, and looked up at the sky as if in contemplation

Every evening he spoke to the heavens,
Reading aloud from one sheet of paper,
His sins during the day,
And the crowd cursed and ridiculed him.

The other sheet listed God’s sins
Giving him tasks beyond his abilities,
He read this aloud too,
And the crowd cursed and ridiculed him.

As it happened, the earth shook,
And the town was gobbled up by the shocks,
Free of the earthly confines, the souls rose,
And stood, in front of Him.

The negotiations began, to decide where
They were to go next. The register was brought out.
Topping the list in golden letters was our worker.
And he was to sit by His side on the golden throne.

The crowd was dumbstruck, or maybe not so much
For there was yelling, and name-calling of the worst kind,
Everyone who cursed the worker, wanted to go up there
And without knowing their fate, they tried to claim his.

Then He spoke, in a voice as booming as the thunder He created,
He ridiculed them, derogating them worse than a stone,
He iterated, idle prayers or sycophantism were not what he wanted,
That was not why He had given them arms and legs.

He resounded; work for mankind was better worship
Than all the sermons of all the religions. That his favourite priests
Were the men who laboured day and night for the society.
That the seats of heaven wait for those who don’t wait for time...

Thus it was, that our worker sat next to the Golden Throne,
And his critics were shunned back to the mortal world,
With orders to toil and reap the harvest of their sins,
While their victim, the worker, sat by Him and watched them from above...