Certified Gods





Often in life, we make bloody sacrifice to

The alter of procedure. Whether we slay

An hour, a moment, a day,

We must pay the price. At times

At the bureau, at the pantheon

We offer our worship to worthlessness itself,

Knowing there is no epiphany, really,

But embracing the rites, counting the rosaries,

Going through the motions.

It is how, eventually, miracles must happen.

We praise an irrelevance,

A pro forma, or a certification

Of some more salient fact.

The driving licence, the passport: these are given

Greater weight to us than freedom.

The marriage certificate, when requested

By an official, is worth more than any vow.

It is the idol of the God that takes this praise.

We bow and make obeisance. Notice

How often, we must revere these paper gods,

Untouched by fire, dry to our faithless touch.



I work in probate. In all honesty I do love my work: but, yeah. As above. 



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