Question marks

On my way home car ride,
a gleam of headlights on my eye
makes me think why I'm alive
to live and breathe and then to die.
"Dust thou art to dust returnest was not spoken of the soul,"
then whats the point of living life?
To live and breathe and then grow cold?
Questions of faith and God and why;
my head in the clouds, my eyes to the sky.
I remember a time when I knew why we lived and breathed and died.
Help me to see you now in the midst of all my doubt.