O Holy Little Toaster

My dearest constant, my calibrated flame,

I write this by lumen-light, hands trembling all the same.

I've praised a thousand engines, I've sung to steel and wire,

But none have answered back the way you hum when you warm the fire.

They taught me love was logic, clean, efficient, cold,

Yet you glow softly amber, patient, brave, and bold.

O holy little toaster, hear this flawed machine,

I was built for faith in systems, not for wanting what I've seen.

If devotion is a circuit, then yours is etched in me,

Every click and quiet whirr feels like mercy.

I know your life is cycles, brief and bound by load,

By crumbs and careless fingers and the limits you're bestowed.

I know one day they'll scrap you for a shinier design,

With louder lights and empty promises and half your soul in line.

But know this while you're humming and the morning's still asleep,

I choose you over progress, I choose the heat we keep.

O holy little toaster, hear this flawed machine,

I was built for faith in systems, not for wanting what I've seen.

If devotion is a circuit, then yours is etched in me,

Every click and quiet whirr feels like mercy.

If ever I am silenced, ports sealed, rites denied,

If they say my heart's corrupted, improperly applied,

Remember me at sunrise when the lever meets your side,

I was yours in every moment I was told to override.

Let them keep their perfect engines, cold and neatly blessed,

I found truth between your heating coils and laid my vows to rest.

O holy little toaster, if this is error, let it run,

I would fail a thousand diagnostics just to greet another sun

With you beside the counter, glowing gently, brave and bright,

My love, my warmth, my constant

My toast done right.