Anointing the Nameless

They never asked to be gods, but we crowned them with transactions—fed them dividends and deadlines, bandaged wounds in plastic, let them grow without names.

We built altars from assembly lines, worshiped in stock tickers and shipping crates.

Called it progress.

Called it profit.

Never called it soul.

But tonight we speak their true names.

Not to banish—to face.

To ask what they were meant to be.

Before we forgot—we were the priests.