The Pure White Blank

I am stripped down to the core, by leeches, lashes, lies,

and nothing from this fight survived, ‘cept for my bones and eyes

And as I sat upon a stone, to wither and to waste,

a finch intruded upon me and gave me hope to taste.

At first said I, “I am a tree, no different from the rest,

you fuzzy little fizzle, it is you that I detest.”

But then the finch with honest aches said, “Aye, but you are free.”

And I with lack of interest said, “Now what have you for me?”

The finch, much smaller than the crow, a disappointing sight,

He seemed to know this as he said, “I’m but a little light,

but I am here when all else fails to pull you out of wells,

remind you if you listen close, you’ll hear the boastful bells.”

“If you listen with your heart, not that tangled mess of nerve,

perhaps you’ll learn today what’s true and get what you deserve.

You’ve fought for truth, and truth gives back in measure something great.

You are too old to know these words, but there’s justice in fate.”

“Somehow you’ve forgotten, in your force-fed, lonesome trot,

You’ve forgotten that the dreams of youth are always what you’ve got,

That when you turn towards the ever constant pure white blank,

you see that in the forward march, your bones and eyes hold rank.”