They wander in search of ancient shrines,
Endlessly roaming, people seek the divine.
Each day, a new address for God, they say—
Even He seems to move away.
I’ve watched the roads, the cars, the skies,
Even learned to watch my thoughts arise.
No one leaps to a final stand,
Man merely roams across the land.
When the wind, with careless grace,
Blows away cheap plastic bags in chase.
I've seen, at the edge of fleeting delight,
So many drift through the dreamy life.
All joy and sorrow now congeal,
Even the finest feels unreal.
Wearing pride as his only name,
A hidden serpent feeds on pointless fame.
And leaving behind the soul of sight,
He spins in circles, day and night.
Rather than stepping deep within,
He dances round the veil of sin.
I’ve watched the roads, the cars, the skies,
Even learned to watch my thoughts arise.
No one leaps to a final stand,
Man merely roams across the land.
They wander in search of ancient shrines,
Endlessly roaming, people seek the divine.
Each day, a new address for God, they say—
Even He seems to move away.
This poem came from a place of quiet observation and inner questioning. I’ve often found myself watching people — and myself — moving through life in circles, searching for something lasting, something sacred. But the more we chase, the more the goal seems to shift. This piece is my attempt to capture that feeling: the spiritual drift, the noise of the world, and the hunger beneath our pride. It’s about how we keep seeking — shrines, meaning, God — but rarely stop to look inward.
