Unsubscribed to Heaven
A password forgotten, a faith left unsigned,
Redemption now a service with terms well-defined.He
used to kneel in pews washed clean by doubt,
Now he prays to a feed, lets the candles burn
out.She sends digital prayers between two texts,
Skipping sermons, justifying the rest.Scripture
appears with a notification ping,
Confession has lag now, and hymns never sing.A cross worn like jewelry,
no burden or shame,
He curses in DMs, then blesses the game.Guilt outsourced to algorithms,
repentance automated,
Redemption as convenient as anything slated.
They say “I’m spiritual,” unbound and free,
Faith pre-recorded for all the world to see.No mystery in miracles,
no awe in the air,
Just subscriptions for sermons, salvation in a share.He posts a verse on Tuesday,
then skips the pain of prayer,
She shares a Psalm in lipstick, never going there.He’s not lost,
just logged out—waiting for a sign,
But the only answer’s an error, divine.He bows to an app,
soul streamed to the cloud,
Logs out of heaven, never wondering how.There’s no hell, only spam,
in this carefully curated faith,
Redemption sold as content, no effort, just wraith.
You didn’t quit—just lost the thread,
Faith now a filter, nothing left unsaid.A faith that’s a trial,
a ritual on demand,
Miracles shipped next-day, straight from the brand.Grace as a pop-up,
penance just a click,
Sacraments sent as updates, mercy, quick.You logged out, you closed the door,
But somewhere, the code asks for more.Unsubscribed to heaven,
alone in the scroll,
No answer remains—just the void in your soul.