Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Whittling

My how the sparks fly

as the flinty wheel keeps turning

as the waxy fuse keeps burning

like the cherub child

I’m learning

to be ground down

burned to the ground

sharpening the saw

but dulling the sounds

of a million little cuts.

6 comments:

ozymandiaz said...

Let's see...
what is the axiom...
something like "life is a grinding wheel, whether you are polished or destroyed depends on what metal you're made of..."
It leaves out, though, that we have a choice in said material.
I do find your writing so intriguing.

Michelle said...

one wonders if they ever really heal, or just form scar tissue. hopefully just shadowy reminders. one day.

Rtwell said...

the perpetual agony of "growth" I know the taste of this..

Rax said...

fascinating portrayal of pain. I love your work

KGT said...

Oz... always the optimist. Thanks for the comment!

Michelle- one day indeed.

Rtwell- growth? Like grafting?

Rax- perhaps the pain, but more likely portrayal of events, pain being a symptom and all.

Rtwell said...

hymm...
uniting with the living so to speak?(at several levels).