What are you doing here?

Our purpose is to be at the top of of the food chain,
Few natural enemies,
An excuse to live vain.
Our purpose is to think far and deep,
Pondering over circumstances we were never meant to create,
Tossing and turning over due to lack of sleep.
Our purpose is to create,
Whether order and life,
Or chaos and destruction.
In this mêlée we create gods,
Fodder for our imagination,
Fanciful stories and tales barely believable.
We proclaim stones as magical,
And call bones supernatural.
We deny the gifts of our bodies,
For habits which put us in harm’s way.
We will die.
End of story.
What is our purpose?
Don’t tell me a realm no one alive has ever seen,
For hearsay is not admissible.
Why do we live,
Build our bodies,
Live long,
So in the end our names end up being all that’s left.
Why do we worry about a green earth,
When it wipes itself clean every now and then?
Why are we obsessed with immortality
But ignore the finite happiness each day brings.
Make love
Not war.
And as far as I am concerned no rule is iron clad.
My life is in my hands,
It’s what I will make of it.
At the same time its supposedly not mine own.
What is our purpose?
I suppose we will find out when the torture ends.
Why try so hard to be relevant
When what you must do is live?
There are no heroes or villains,
Who determines right or wrong,
When what matters is survival.
What is the Word,
Because nirvana exists
In the spheres of our minds.
So our purpose,
Our reason for living,
Is to die.

© Sena Frost 2015