Lively purpose

A Poem by Mione

Written when I was questioning.

Where do I find purpose?
Is it in the sheets, within the arms of another lover,
Or is it in the grind that lines my pockets?
Is it the people who know me and love me and need me,
or in the turning of a book's page?

Will I find it on a plane, a train or by ship while foreign words fall from foreign lips,
or in the distant shriek of nature's creep?

Perhaps if I look to the sky and shrink away from the brink of my insignificant lies,
Maybe then I'll swallow the hollow feeling that lingers in my bones.

Maybe then I'll atone and be awash with being alone.
So where?
Where.
There. Here?
The building burn of the cold in my throat
As the bold winds touch my goosed skin.

In the uncomfortable calm of tragedy
And the vapid majesty of coffee conversations
With a stranger's smile
and your gentle curious relations.