Sometimes I just sit and wonder,
About the meaning of my life.
And about the true purpose of me,
Amidst all of the toil and strife.

And amidst all of the greatness,
The beauty of earth and of space,
And of the vast circle of life,
And what role I have in this place.

And the answers are all very evasive,
So I conjure them all from within,
Relying on simply my learned faith,
And experience of where I have been.

And I read the words of others',
Who have past on well before me,
Who also sought what I now seek,
Yet still left this life, unknowingly.

Could I be the one who uncovers,
The secrets all men hope to find,
Or will I, like the ones before me,
Go out of this world just as blind.

What if there is no true meaning?
And purpose; just a desperate plea?
To add some reason to madness,
What a pointless life that would be.