A question from all the years gone

It's a question imposed to all the years that have come and gone, to all the poets that swam across the seas, walked new lands and conquered new countries of words, to all the generations that came after them and to those that will come after I'm long gone. It's not a sign of shame or weakness, it's not a proof of intellectual superiority or power. It's just the logic of the human being. Why are we here? What is the purpose? And what will happen next? Who am I?