I wish I were a tree
During this time of year.
Trees of all sorts are praised
On all their bright colors.
There are reds and bright pinks,
Oranges, yellows, and brown.
Once a year, people stare.
People stop just to gawk.
And adore something dead.
I don’t understand how
People enjoy the sight
Of millions of dead leaves.
It is like once a year,
Death is seen as beauty,
but only towards trees.
If that thought were to keep
its meaning with humans,
Then I would be seen as
Most beautiful of all
For I am dead inside.
But we don’t celebrate
My lack of emotion,
Or anyone’s infact.
We lock them up in rooms
And say they’re the problem.
Are we? Are we really?
Baffy Basics 