The human purpose

The sun rises each day,
To set again each night,
Its begins a journey,
Which always takes it back to the beginning,
Yet we chase it every single day,
From where it begins,
To where it ends
Such is the bain of our existence.

We live and we die,
Yet the rivers still must flow,
Whether we are here or not,
Life goes on,
The trees will still sway in the wind,
And the birds will still take to the air,
I wonder then why we are here,
if our existence holds purpose.

When you leave you become a memory,
replenished only when you return,
If you return,
And if you don't, the memory becomes distant,
You become a forgotten blemish,
Insignificant, almost.
Then why go through it all,
Is there a purpose to this existence?

Is it to hold gold and silver?
Yet we don't bear it in the afterlife.
Is it to feel life's pleasures?
Perhaps not.
Maybe the whole purpose is to make a difference,
Hoping that the good deed lives beyond us,
For the reality is that there is no greater success,
Than creating life even after death.