Lost and Found

Pencil -- paper.
A few erasers to add shade.
The thought of picking up these things
Has made me so afraid.

Til now. I 'd lost the love of art
My soul a withered thing
Until the beating of my heart ---
My soul's begun to sing!

I used to think, "How can I?"
I have no thirst for life
I lost myself -- what made me ME--
Due to the clinging strife.

But now I find I fear no more
I feel alive --- and strong
So I write words down -- I draw the shapes.
I am NO LONGER wrong.