The Whittled

Nothing there was, wasn’t whittled
Whether a skill or an ideal or life’s simple things
Win or lose, you whittled that
Sink or swim, you whittled that too

Even God whittled man from the dust of the ground
Then, whittled woman from the flesh He’d bound
The whittler, not the talker, wins respect
For only the whittled can we perfect

An idea is never enough
Neither can a blueprint take you there
But the whittling, the grinding, the effort-
When you have that, you make your place here
Not on our lips alone
But in our hearts and memories

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s