Whittling away. Turning the carving into what it's meant to be.
Hope for the best with every passing scrape of metal against wood.
Don't stop now. Even though you're tired. Even though you wish for different. Keep going.
Carve until it's perfect.
A sculpture of your soul, it's not a very hard task. Everyone else can do it.
Carve what there is. Carve what the people wish they could know.
It's just a piece of wood after all.
YOU ARE READING
Sickening Poetry
PoetryJust a poem book, mostly small, short poems. Maybe a big poem here and there but This is just for fun. Nothing serious.
