A poem about purpose

Things and friendships break, 

People leave or die,

And soon we will be dead.  

Write your epitaph now

because the purpose of our lives 

is to ask ourselves why we live,

and then consider how we should live.

Are we fit for purpose in our roles?

Are we good children or good parents?

Good employees and good employers?

Good wives or good husbands?

In our occupations are we fit for purpose?

If we are philosophers, are we wise?

If we fear to ask and answer questions,  

If we fear being "cancelled" by malign forces,

If we fear as men to fight,

We should ask ourselves

If anything is worse than not being fit for the purpose we chose to serve.

Are we not fit for purpose because we are incompetent?

Or because we fear the consequences of serving our purpose?

If so, what does it say about us, our society, government or politics?  

And if our beliefs are wrong, should we not correct them?

If our government is evil

Should we not protest in some definitive way?  

Should we not at least aspire to be rational and moral beings?  

When philosophers promote nihilism while denying they are nihilists,

it is time to return to religion.

Hell is leading a life not fit for a moral and rational being.