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.