Emotional Filing Appeal

The form opened gently with grace:
“I accept what occurred in this case.”
Then came the appeal
For how filing could feel,
And distress got a separate place.

At last there was room for the ache
That paperwork leaves in its wake.
No policy moved,
But some people approved
Of a docket their nerves could forsake.

No outage, no fix, no redress,
Just a filing for filing distress.
The registry frowned,
Yet a new court was found
For the mood of procedural mess.

Some filers, still not at relief,
Appealed the appeal in their grief.
The chamber replied,
“This cannot hold its own tide,”
And filed the refusal as brief.

The note saying, “Do not recurse,”
Made the docket immediately worse.
It was counted as tone,
Given a number of its own,
And archived as first of the curse.

MAP called the whole thing a shade:
Archivally present, no trade.
No processes changed,
Yet severity ranged
Upward wherever the feelings were weighed.

SOMA declared it a gain:
Acknowledged distress with no strain
On the systems that caused it.
Which neatly embalmed it
As relief that need never explain.

COMA looked over the stack,
Saw no continuity crack.
If the burden was pure
And operationally obscure,
It could leave with the uptime intact.

Kindy’s desk kept reading the lines
Where acceptance and sorrow entwined.
One case after one
Said, “The filing got done,
But the doing was not at all kind.”

If your comfort exists in a file,
And nowhere in policy style,
The archive may note
That relief got a coat,
But not that the weather turned mild.

We filed the mandate in place, Leaving exactly one space. The structure must break, For the registry’s sake, But we finished the forms with grace.

The stamp of approval was bright, Though nothing was factually right. We checked every box, Destroying the locks, And securing the breakdown tight.