Whittling
Souls standing in line
As the world pulls out its knife
To whittle them down
Carve up their lives
Does it have an idea
An insatiable need
As it keeps whittling
On them endlessly
You do have to wonder
What it truly sees
As it carves on you
And whittles on me
Like an old mountain man
By a cool mountain stream
With Father Time standing by
The world keeps on whittling
And it'll certainly not tolerate
Any back talk from you
Just sit still and be quite
Like a good piece of wood
As the world whistles
It whittles away
Impressed with itself
At the carvings it's made
But if it whittles to much
And doesn't care for the you that it's made
The world tosses you out
And lets the dogs play
Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2017
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