Zoom Baptism
Sanctified by signals, prayers pass through glass,
A choir raised in static, lit by screens
that never last.Confession lingers in the bandwidth,
buffered by a neural trance,
While pious hands remain unseen, absolved by distance, luck,
and chance.A priest’s voice filters, ironed flat by zeroes riding datastream,
Sins are catalogued in secret,
“Amen” drowned in comments’ stream.Blessed be the WiFi—father, ghost,
and holy host,
Forgiveness coded, sold, and ghosted, mercy posted by remote.
He kneels before a glowing pane, surrender scripted line by line,
No incense climbs, no sacred pain, just clean emojis by design.Typed repentance,
digital creed, “Send tithes below”—the prompt displayed,
A cross unfolds in pixel light,
the old blood never touched the blade.No water chills, no linen stains,
no congregation, breath, or song,
No trembling soul to clutch the rails,
just PayPal grace for screens too long.“Peace be with you”—quick, then gone,
his penance signed and left unread,
The holy rites condensed to links, salvation scrolled and softly led.
She tunes to faith-on-demand, her hymns are synced with captioned pleas,
She skips the gospel, loves the band, and filters out the mysteries.No pews to scar,
no hands to meet, just faces caught in digital masks,
No offering plate, no trembling seat—just chat rooms praying in their
tasks.Holy water piped through bandwidth, worship measured by applause,
Each soul baptized in HDMI, devotion tallying the cause.Conversion clicks,
redemption rates, the sacrament in pixel rain,
A sacred script for viral faith, a login cure for ancient pain.
The altar’s vanished, truth is queued, each rite archived on clouded drives,
Miracles reduced to code—just proof of piety survives.Confession cam,
forgiveness file, a spreadsheet for the shamed,
The rituals unbodied now, all trembling, all unnamed.Ad breaks puncture every psalm,
the preacher’s face glitches in chrome,
Faith is rendered in a font, the spirit stuck in “Leave Meeting”
zone.Penance is a streaming charge, repentance on demand,
Redemption sold in monthly packs, all grace now secondhand.
No relics here but silent keys, no candles burned but battery drains,
No hands in prayer, just haunted feeds
where faith forgets the stains.She wept in pixels, he knelt for views,
the congregation scrolled and scrolled,
Each soul alone, absolved in queues, their ghosts unblessed,
their stories cold.A blessing spoken through the lag,
a gospel masked in GIFs and spam,
A faith that streams, a creed for tags,
but leaves the sacred where it began.And when the screens go dark at last, no echo,
benediction, flame—Just empty hearts that logged in fast,
then left the meeting as they came.