--==* Little Boy Lost *==--

I never wrought of a poet's thought

in my writing once calm and assured.

Just a little boy lost,

And unsure of the cost

Paid for helping myself to be cured.

-=-

But the writing was often a problem,

for it grew to be part of the pain.

And the little boy cried

and was wounded inside

As I tried to write sweetly again.

-=-

When I'd write in the quiet of evening,

I'd use words which were loving and small.

But the little boy's verse

Would come forth as a curse

Full of pain which was caused by it all.

-=-

I know not if my verses are useful,

or if writing is somehow a cure.

But the little boy knows

And his writing still shows

That my path will remain ever sure.