I once spoke to God

I once spoke to God about life itself, How we fit into it and where was our place of belonging. He said: Dear me child of the Earth! Why speak of such nonsense in my very presence? Is it not good enough that you have a body and you exist in this plane of existence? Has it not occured to you that everything you need is here? Everything that you could possibly hope, wish for, exists in this timely matter and place? Why would you desire for anything more than what you were already given? I replied: Well, if that were the case God, then tell me why I have a need to desire more than what I was given? What sort of purpose does this fulfill for us? In the grand scheme of things in this cosmic universe we take for granted? God struggled profusely in search of an answer to give, but was unable to come up with one. In turn, he signed deeply and asked: Child what is it that you wish for? I replied: A vast majority of secrets lay hidden in the center Earth, my wish is to uncover the mysteries surrounding that which is dormant, so my fellow men may discover the truth to our own existence in this world. God laughed long and hard before replying: Child, your fellow men have asked a number of times for that request to be fulfilled, which was met with very little success as what they have asked of me is something that cannot be brought to light, however that has never stopped them from trying. I scrunched up my face at God. Realizing my brief encounter with God was coming to an end, a spark of a thought caught fire in my head, vivid in colour as the feathers of a parrot. Time was short, so with a last plea I asked God if he could share some of his secrets with me for a poem. Just one poem. He would also be mentioned in it too. God looked at me studiously, before nodding his head, having surmised this is most likely the last thing I'll ask of Him. Eloquently I spoke: With all the love left in me I give thee my heart and soul, purged from the soft warm embers of the tepid feelings I have for you, rolling in wild, harvested oats fresh from the first cut made this fall. In my pocket I carry three items, given to me by you. First was a worn through mitten, you used it when you first caressed my cheek in the first snowfall when we met. You wrote and pressed a song of adoration and admiration, that I felt it in the very depths of my being. My many days in seasons past spent lingering in fields of wildflowers, humming softly listening to that heartbeat of yours, similar to the metronome I used for my earlier years I played piano. Second is a miniature dagger, you sliced me with. I remembered the name you spoke on your lips before it happened. It was an accident. The incident never repeated itself once more. I kept the dagger because the blood that dripped from my finger answered some question I had been wondering for some time. Whether our bond between one another was strong enough to last a lifetime. It seemed as though someone out there was trying to tell me that yes indeed, it's as powerful as being bonded by blood. The third is a tiny apothecary jar, inside is the heart of a hummingbird. With this in my pocket, it reminds me of my love for you, it reminds me of what you sacrificed for us, for yourself, and what you'll do for me, but what I'll never allow for yourself, is for you to forget who you are, that the Fates may have predestined who you were meant to be, but your future is what you decide to make of it. My heart. My love. My one and only. God was silent and said after some time: Child, that wasn't a poem. I replied: It felt like one to me. God huffed and told me that one he'll pass, but only because it was spoken with unconditional affection towards the one I hold in high respect. I smiled back, happy that things were going my way for once.