The Mind

At times
When I would rather be
Asleep in night's rest
My mind awakens
To race about in
Morn's wee hours,
Pursuing poetic images
Starting another day
Before I've shed the last.

And I helpless thus
Left to be
A watch fire in the
Night from
Driftwood bleached by sun
Gathered from the rocks
Lying littered from past storms
And endless waves.

I am the crackle
Of fire
Sending sparks
Into the night sky,
A beacon
From a distant
Shore
The ashes white
In the awakening
Of dawn
Scattered
By the rising
Winds.

I am a watch fire
In the night
Along the solitary
Shore.
They also serve
Who only lie awake.