Another poem about life

Life is a perennial myth
that filters through time
and arrives at our doorstep
with an early morning thud
of a thick newspaper.
The scientific of the minds
would pause
might even take a long pause
and wonder about it.
It is a chain of random events
A stack of delicate dominoes.
Everyone agrees.
But what is close to you and
what has formed you
has already solidified.
Nothing random about it.
It has a name, a belonging now.
Pose a question: What is life?
And there will be answers flying
like frisbees in a mad playground.
The popular ones challenging
everything else and the stronger ones
trying to outdo at least once.
What is its purpose?
This question alone makes up
some of our best and worst moments.
It is told and retold
Assured and reassured
Planned water tight.
But after all this
we would ask ourselves what it is.
And there is silence
with a clock ticking away.
It does keep time
but evades our questions.