Whittlers.

We are born whittlers, you and I.

Gathered intents,
thoughts, ideas,
all those things that make us,
are the making of us,

whittled away into dust

day by day, hour by hour…

one idea, one intent,
one truth at a time,

whittled down to raw bone
and throbbing sinews

shaping and reshaping, remolding,
searching for that elusive shape..

that you, and me….

and still we whittle away

until the dust has flown into the night
and the shape is but a feel,
amorphous,
under tired probing fingers.

And still we whittle away
from dawn to dusk.

Born whittlers that we are.

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4 thoughts on “Whittlers.

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