The Meaning of Life

We all have our own idea of what life is,

Some say it is short, some say it is a circle,

Some say it is a path, with flowers and thorns,

Some say it is the road to God, and others say it is a journey to the beyond,

But as I wake up every morning,

And encounter both wondrous and unfortunate events,

I wonder if it really is the things they say it is,

As I am who I think I am in my eyes,

But I may be someone else in someone else's eyes,

I would think I had a fight with my friend,

But to her, it may have been an intellectual argument,

And it makes me wonder if life even has a shape,

What if life was a collection of random events,

And each person, at the end of their life,

Holds a pool of the meanings they gave to them in their hands,

Only to be passed on to others,

As each event, big or small, fortunate or unfortunate, hits us square in the face,

We give them meaning, and tell others encountering them what they mean,

Even if we encountered nothing, we would still think it was something,

Like a monk who only possesses necessities but thinks he has everything,

So each morning I wake up, and wish someone "good" day ahead,

I wonder if life is just a big ocean of randomness,

The meaning of which exists only in our heads.