Why

I run my fingers through my hair:
Pacing up and down to collect these shuttered pieces:
To re-create what once was
To fix what could have been
But with no avail
All is a distant memory.

This seed planted in barren soil
Germinating to life in the toughest odds
It clings to the promise of life:
Like liana's in a forest,
Competing for a chance to be seen, felt
And maybe a chance to be loved

As the plant grows bigger
Its roots carve deeper into the soil
Attempting to extract life from it
To quench a thirst of being seen, felt, and loved
Above all, a thirst for a name

As its roots penetrate deeper
The soil cracks:
As to selfishly posses the bits of life in it
The cracks tear the roots of the seedling
Leaving it frail and weak
But still, it prevailed.

In midday, as the heat intensifies
The plant continuously "bleeds" to the ground
Its thirst for life unquenched.
The once proudly sprouting leaves coil in
As attempt to hide from the sun's heat

And as the soil continues to crack
Tearing apart the bits of flesh in the ground
The plant scraps its courage together
Trying to hold sternly to a life it once yearned for:
The promise of a name, a belonging and love

As the blood continuously oozes to the ground
Its life slowly slips away:
Its stem unwillingly curves to the ground
And as it falls,
Like its days in this earth
No significant impact is made:
No one remembers, cares nor sees the plant that lay dying on the soil
And as it un-slings itself from the promises made and gives in to death.
It realizes that it quest to life was to no avail

The gardener comes to inspect on the once lively plant
That grew and thrived on barren soil:
But as he stares shocked by what he sees
He plucks the remains of the plant from the soil
With no emotion in his face,
He chucks it in the bin
Like something that never had a zeal for life

And as he sits on his veranda,
Starring at his perfectly groomed yard
He notices dozens of seedlings that have germinated in this soil
The sight arouses questions in his mind
He asks himself:
Why should life be given if it will not be lived?
Why do we cling to life when it's easier to utterly give up?
Why do we write our names in all that we possess?

And through all the questions asked,
He relapses to his own life and wonder's:
What is the purpose of my life?
Why am I here?