Purpose And A Place2 Poem by John Anderson

I climbed long escalators through the mall-like structure.
Striding people, tragically together, hectically alone.
Marching through a silent early morning.

I opened the glass doors and entered an outer office where I would wait. High-up rooftop views, sheltering us from the chaotic world below, provided a God-like ambience for what lie ahead.

A young secretary directed me from behind her desk to the place where I'd be waiting.
Sitting on oak furniture, under a high ceiling, in my best suit.
I took a cup of coffee from a white carafe and sat back down.
Empty Sweet-n-Lo packages in a neat holder.
Stoically observing the herd of workers entering the office to begin their day,
while drinking from the Styrofoam cup.

My new manager sat in his glass office formulating his plans.
Excitedly looking like he had been there for awhile, yet he too had just arrived.
And as he thought my day took structure.
He saw me sitting, and bounced out of his chair to meet me.
Papers folding on desk tops as he strode past, a sunbeam following him across the room.
Shaking my hand, he directed my shoulder to their meeting for the goals of the day.
Then seriously dictated them to earnest faces.
I could feel the purpose within.
I sat there, like a puzzle piece, watching their intentions to achieve.
Searching for the barren hole that I would fill.
Everyone has a place, and a purpose, I thought.
I refilled my cup, looking for mine.