Tuesday, January 3, 2012


     At times when my roiled brain becomes serene,
     I may achieve a state of clarity
     In which intuitive insight grows keen,
     As if it were a beacon beckoning me,
     And then I sense the guidance of that beam
     Aiming to lead my wayward footsteps home
     While causing my dull intellect to gleam,
     And in this state sometimes arrives a poem.
     But now I sense more benefit awaits
     Than merely turning verses in the night:
     That staying on this vital beam creates
     A life replete with wisdom and delight.
          To skeptic souls such visions merely seem,
          Unable as they are to live a dream.