In the heart of the twisted sycamore,

the purple finch could not fly.

Its wings, fully developed, 

tormented the poor bird for eternity.

Embellished by anger, the bird became lost.

Consumed by hurt and loneliness,

the purple finch became blind.

What was a flightless, blind bird good for?

Crushed by the fist of God,

the purple finch turned to the serpent.

Desperately avoiding the truths of life,

hopelessly grasping for an excuse.

In the darkest part of the woods,

the purple finch discovered a dove.

Gracefully swooning upon the ground,

the dove looked the finch directly into the eyes.

Tears streamed through the purple finch.

Why did they all have such a beautiful gift?

Hatred flooded into its icy-blue eyes.

Its lip began to quiver as its heart ached.

Go Away.

I never want to see you again.

Just as elegantly as it had arrived, 

the dove flaunted its wings and departed.

And the cruel tides of insecurity

beat down on the purple finch savagely.