
Paging Almighty—
Sitting beyond the veil,
above the heavens,
outside time—
do You ever check Your inbox,
or did You mute beeps
after the first flood?
-
Divine Tech Support, please hold.
Your prayer is important to us.
Your estimated wait time is forever.
-
Take this one—
girl on her knees,
hands clasped, eyes turned up,
wrapped in prayer beads,
or whatever,
whispering mantras, psalms, du’as—
you name it,
as if the right combination of syllables
might finally unlock divine customer service.
Praying.
Hoping.
Waiting for a sign—
but the bush isn’t burning,
the sea isn’t parting,
and the prophets aren’t returning calls.
-
Do You scan her request
through a celestial algorithm—
cross-checking sins, karma balance,
fasting records, stray blasphemous thoughts?
Or are we still running
on Divinity OS—
last patched in the Classical Era,
still full of bugs?
Holy firmware update failed.
Morality.exe unresponsive.
-
Do You judge her
by the prayers she recites,
the rules she keeps,
the faith she wears like secondhand cloth?
Or by the weight in her chest—
the longing, the doubt,
the questions she’s too afraid to ask
out loud in temple, church, mosque—
or anywhere at all?
-
And tell me—
is this a subscription model?
Premium users get paradise,
basic accounts get reincarnation,
trial members burn for eternity—
unless upgraded before Judgment.
-
Or is this a ranking system—
the top ten percent get enlightenment,
the rest get shuffled back into the cycle,
reassigned like overworked interns
in the cosmic bureaucracy?
-
I mean, I get it.
Omnipotence must be exhausting.
Do You even check the suggestion box anymore—
or is it stuffed with prayers and complaints,
gathering dust next to a burning planet?
-
Or—
and hear me out here—
are You just
a grand metaphysical metaphor
we keep around
to make sense of the static?
-
Just curious.
No rush.
Take Your time.
.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
I am many women. I am Iris.
Polite, sane, restrained? No. None of that.
Entropy at 3 am. Dead things stirring in your mind’s eye. Raking through your inner beauty to find something it hasn’t prettied up.
Maybe those.
Sometimes tender.
Read on.
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