A Sense of Purpose

What is that glare in your eyes?
That curling empty stare that bores holes
that no one can see?
Why do I get these feelings of shapes-
blurs only of light that hide
beneath where I can see?
Why are there echos here?
I have many questions but time grows longer
stretching out like shadows on the ground
in those cool summer evenings by the castle.
I remember watching the city burn;
we were both creators and destroyers then.
But we are renewed by our guilt.
We are given a sense of purpose and of righteousness.
Only through our sins do we locate our souls
and the direction as to our nature.
We create our own purpose.
We, the trinkets and toys
of a dusty diety that watches from the corners,
are fit to live as we judge fit.
Interesting, to see what way is chosen
and what the outcome bears.
A show to watch, an exhibition to admire;
art displayed, not having a particular purpose but to exist.
We are living art, created by our own existence.
So tell me again what that glare in your eyes means.
I only know as far as my soul will let me
and I would love to hear your interpretation.