Descartes' Rule 3 Poem by Richmon Rey Jundis

Intuitively,
I can hear my heartbeats
while I examine myself consciously
existing in this round world
that constantly evolves twenty-four hours a day,
and revolves around the sun for three-hundred and sixty-five days.
I know, I cannot doubt these things!

But the question that my soul keeps seeking and doubting
is its purpose: 'why is this imperfect creature,
that keeps to err every day,
is being kept alive,
by the Unknown, Prime Cause, Perfect Creator? '
I'll deduce my thoughts about it,
as I sit in front of a plane table
with a pen and paper in my hands.

The composite bits of reality that I cannot doubt
are extrinsic and obvious,
but they lead me to a deeper confusion
and led me to ask: 'What is distinct in this imperfect and finite being
that has a lot of potentialities, both negative and positive? '
I can hear the slashing of the leaves above me,
but if I examine it carefully
it is because of the unseen presence of the wind
neither by the leaves themselves nor the thin twigs,
I almost forgot that what are essentials are invisible to the eye.

I cringe at the image of my soul,
as it reflects a gigantic ugly being,
as I write this poem,
that cannot be seen in my external image,
but there is hope
as long as I choose not to dwell to longer
in this dark confinement of my soul,
and if I choose to walk toward the light
of that Perfect Creator, that I accept I cannot fully know,
there are bits of Him in me,
that I can use to tame this demon in me.

So, what is my purpose after all?
I do not know! My mind is too chaotic for now.
These questions seek indubitable answers,
that I hope to soon arrive
without any notice,
or maybe while a savor my last minutes
on my deathbed
as I am surrounded by the people I love,
who knows?