Purpose

Purpose, in books and memories of other times I tried to find.
Why am I here, what must I do, so long now searching blind?
I sought in right and then in wrong, but to neither I belong
Evils depths though deep, fill only recesses of mortal mind
Trod were the many paths of everything good, right and just
Mind weary from countless thoughts, but to search I must.

Is this all there is for me toil, struggle, born, live then die
Mind's conflict seeks truth, searching where answers lie
While another voice speaks clear, that myself I must trust.
Torn first this way then that, to which my future entrust
Perchance for those moments when overwhelmed by choice
There is for me a deep seated desire for one solitary voice

Yet does this quest for purpose, mask an attempt for me to own
That which belongs to one and all, not to me, not me alone
For is there not but one source that be, the same for me and thee
Am I not the source as the source is me, the same for all you see!
My purpose, perhaps to simply be

Poetry by English poet David King