Purpose of Life? (of Poetry?)

The heart palpitates rapidly-
BEATING- BEATING- BEATING-BEATING!
Beating like a giant drum in an empty cavity-
Knowing nothing else than to beat on and on.
So it beats day in and day out-
Never feeling a thing (for love is only an illusion of the mind).

BEATING-BEATING-BEATING-BEATING!
But as the sun begins to set upon the heart,
The palpitations begin to slow down:
BEATING- beating- b  e  a  t  i  n  g…..
Then the heart lives no more
(But there are still others out there beating).

So why does one ponder on this (the darkest of subjects)?
Is it because poetry is only about death and sex?