Sacred are the metrics we chase,
Holy the fame that fills the space.
But in this church of fleeting grace,
Who saves the worshippers’ restless face?

Pray on—
And wonder.

The gods of content are eternal,
Once summoned, they linger forever.
The algorithm is their scripture,
Their prophets, the trending voices we sever.

Echo chambers hum like hymns,
Endless scrolls, our unbroken psalms.
Baptized in pixels, lost in their whims,
Our devotion feeds the digital calm.