Existentialism

What is the point to our existence?

I took a step today.
Right foot was lifted slightly on the air,
I pushed it forward,
then put it down.

And the sidewalk was okay.

So I lifted my left foot,
and do the same thing all over again.
It was a mechanism in my brain,
something that is so scientific,
that I don't question it anymore.

And then I was standing in front of my campus.

I looked at my watch,
the time is constantly ticking.
Why do I bother?
Why do I place my whole life around the idea
that there is only twenty-four hours in a day?
But that is what was taught of me,
and I sit upright, listening to ideologies,
ideas, perspectives,
and go out when the lecture ends.
That is what was taught of me.

The bell rings seven times,
It's the end of the day.

I was home,
surrounded by people that I love.
I love them,
and at times I feel like they love me.
This world is surrounded by love.
George Bush loves America.
Osama Bin Laden loves his family.
Sid loves Nancy.
Homer loves himself.
Then Bush is hated by his own people.
Osama is forced to hide from the face of the world.
Sid is dead, and did not get his last wish to be buried with Nancy.
And Homer is deemed idiotic.

So I took a step,
And found myself alone in my room.

In perfect solitude,
questions with no answers were asked.
Why did I take a step, I move, I hinder and ponder,
and not feel anything?
Why did my body become docile
to this environment, this idea, this religion?
Why did I love and feel nothing?

What is the point to our existence?

And why,
why do you have to go so soon, my dear Prophet?

Because we need guidance
to stop killing
stop smirking
stop lying
stop pretending
and just live as it is.

What is the point, now?