As beauty leaves the woman

and talent, abandons the man

they become gray

like old photographs

that say, who they were.

Maybe, you never had it

those shiny leaves

dancing in the breeze

full of color.

There must be more to life

than nature.

The human condition

is cut down, and forgotten

like a tree, turned into firewood.

Why place your hopes

in exciting leaves

that fade

or in the sturdiness of your trunk?

When we are young,

we are full of possibilities

gradually, then quickly

rolling into a quarry

of forgotten rocks.

Few of us, get sculpted into stone

and our best pieces

might’ve been cut away

Who is to say, what to keep, or to be gotten rid of

but the artist

understood by their art,

or stolen from someone else?

Your life should be art

and not the other way around

How do we deal with the inevitable decline?

We want to believe, our colors shine

in the everlasting light, that doesn’t hint at twilight

but our tree, is not to be forever

the only religion is to be young again, in this faulty philosophy.

If you admire the past

you really are old.

What comes out of you?

If not beauty,

then what?

to be a child

with joy

for each new thing

because your value

isn’t what you know.