Purpose

I ask myself: What makes me me? Beyond who I am, What actually am I? So to speak; Just a living being. I still continue to learn who I am, And it seems like it will never end. But even so, I think I already know what I am: I am a "matter", That has a break from nothingness; For maybe sixty, maybe seventy years, Or perhaps shorter than expectancies. Afterward, I will probably return, To wherever I was before I was born: Nothingness. That's why I so much care about life, Hence I cannot guess; If there is another chance, To win the lottery named "being alive". However if somehow, I get one more chance; I don't think I'll be able to know, If I have ever lived before. The purpose of life is must be variable, Because the purpose of existence, Is all about preserving that existence, As long as it's thinkable, And not anything else. Born, multiply and finally die. Because you can't sustain yourself forever; You must remain as a part of the circle, Being a root to another, Who will see the rotating cycle. That's the only real purpose of all of us. Everything beyond that; Is our wishes, hopes and beliefs, Something we want to think; That really works, Like in our dreams. Or something else that's about; Our meaningless temporal goals, In our miserable temporal lifes. If the subject is our lifes; I'd say the life is a war. It's all about to hope, To fight for the hopes, And to wait for more. However, Wars are usually more than fighting: They are also about waiting; For the next attack, The next sleep, And the next sunny day. That makes the life; An expectancy I dare say. Fights never end, For the living beings; Who want to continue, To have still a life, Worth being alive. 12/24