Pray for the Algorithm
Bless the glow that never flickers, worship by subscription,
Sacrifice of silence for connection’s dereliction,
Let the faithful gather not in cathedrals but on grids—Devotion reduced to data,
the holy secret hidIn buffer bars and instant posts, absolution paid in speed,
Where saints dissolve to usernames and miracles depend on feed.
Prayers rise on fiber optics,
not incense through the nave,Each keystroke counting penance for a world we failed to save.Confession comes in checkboxes, a password for the soul—No liturgy of longing,
just click-through terms that scroll.They whispered wishes into microphones,
forgiveness into mics,Candles snuffed and passwords typed,
salvation sold in spikes.
He kneels to code he’ll never crack, faith encrypted, hope remote,
Tithes his secrets by the packet,
offers shame with every vote.They genuflect before a dashboard,
search for meaning in the screen,
The only gospel left is trending, the only relics,
what’s unseen.The priesthood’s now the comment thread, the ritual a brand,
And angels coded into bots deliver judgment, never hand.
No hymn is sung that hasn’t trended,
no sorrow voiced for free,Each prayer is logged for future sales, each dream,
commodity.She wept beneath the LED,
he begged his god through glass—The answers came in instant form,
their value pegged to mass.Repentance is a double-tap, devotion measured,
weighed—And every glitch becomes a psalm, each error, what they prayed.
The algorithm asks no questions, requires no repentance,
It only counts attention, not confession, not penance.Obedience, not love—loyalty,
not faith,
It’s a shrine built out of metrics,
an altar cold and safe.No blessing in the bandwidth, no spirit in the code,
Yet every heart is indexed, every wound exposed.
They sought a god who never blinked, a voice that never tired,
But found instead an audience for everything desired.The creed is always changing,
the litany is feed—And in the sacrament of scrolling,
the soul is lost to need.They write “amen” in comment fields,
surrender every doubt,
But no one names the architect,
no one dares to shoutAgainst a faith that’s crowd-sourced,
a savior they designed,
A liturgy of silence, forgiveness undefined.
In the end, when even sorrow is repackaged and resold,And mercy turns to metadata,
every secret, cold—Let the haunted pray for code’s embrace,For gods that track,
not grace.Let the haunted name their ghosts
and give them one last password in the dark—Because the only miracles allowed are
measured, tagged, and marked.And the only
heaven left is hidden deep within the spark.