The question must surely be then, what the meaning is. What is the reason?

If there is nothing, then why move?

To stand, without purpose defined. The canvas, abandoned.

They ask, yet still they sway, even without answer.

They come and they come, to do the same, again and again.

They do it because others are weak, or in need? That is no reason.

They do it because it is the right thing? They surely cannot argue morals.

That would be sick.

There are no morals. They are mad to presume anything aside.

Chemical. Electric. The creations of a primitive thing, which let too much loose to personality.

Forced to relinquish because of its own comfort.

That is all the conscious holds, so that is all they hold. A thought, to be forced by need. False life. No more in control than the rock underfoot, which rolls by command.

There is no hunger, no fear or pain. Constructs, of those in control? They are caught by it.

Then maybe some do not know the horrors. They come to aid that which is unseen by most.

But they are here for the second chance.

Whatever comes before must only birth pain. In rejection, they push.

Yet these machines have their gods, so what does that make us? Even we, who moulded them?

What right do we have?

They must surely sigh.

They ask why they are trapped like this, in that eternal recurrence. Without their faith, they must

have nothing. Even an evil, or the machine faith would be better than this silence.

Even now, they call to faith, searching.

There can be no reason to this life, then. That chemical, imposed thing.

There is no life.

Then to escape. To relieve themselves of the perpetual suffering, that continuous dread.

All they are given is a reason to die.

But she disagrees.

She came here, not for the people or the planets.

She came because she does not see the reason in doing the same. Repeating that which came before, on the grounds of species.

Obeying the primitive thing, or that established by those long dead.

She fled. Came here, to find that devastation.

Indeed, they are right.

All they are given is a reason to die.

But so few have realised it.

Those, who churn in the cycle, praying to something long dead, and lost of strength.

If there is nothing, but the chemical imitation, then there is no life.

If so, then they must surely find a reason to die.

Where is the issue in this when everything else seems already dead?

She has come for her reason. Her reason to die.

Faith is dead, but from its corpse came another.

Not a story, or allegiance or ethic.

But with that reason, a place to lay your head.

Surely, the real reason why they do this, and yet a reason unobserved.

To find this reason, then, should be purpose.

To realise that which is chemical and electric, in their fear and fright.

To devote themselves unconditionally, not to that before, on the premiss of their species, or faith or fear.

But to finding their reason to die.

And she, who takes to this devestation.

Her strength is a great one.

For she has found this reason, not to live but to die.

And indeed, for this, they must certainly fall to their knees.