Fall Leaves

The other night I was just chillin' outside writing in my journal and I decided to write another poem.

I watch in wonder as the leaves fall down all around me--
The trees have changed--no leaf remains the same.
If I were a leaf what color would I be?
Would I be green and young, or brown and old?
Would I be a beautiful magenta, or a shade of gold?
The leaves keep falling--spiralling down.
The colors create a rainbow on the ground.
Why should I be a leaf? Why not be a tree?
Why should I drop, why should I fall, why shouldn't I remain the same?
I could stand like a tree--forever strong and true,
Constant and firm, always in Heavens view.
But if I were a tree, what would be my leaf?
What do I drop? What do I let fall?
What about me changes, becomes beautiful, then dies?
Perhaps they don't fall because they're dead.
Perhaps they fall because it's their time, nothing more.
Perhaps they sacrifice for the tree to make room for new leaves.
Year after year, new leaves grow. They stay with the tree, then go.
Does the tree miss them, those leaves of yesteryear?
I think so. But the tree is wise. He knows the reason.
He doesn't go against nature, but continues the flow.
So year after year this cycle repeats.
Why be a leaf? Why be a tree? I think I am both.

Masks

As I paint this mask
I contemplate.
Of my work I am proud;
Of the symbol, I ain’t.

Helping others to hide
Behind ceramic and paint--
Losing their souls
Without a complaint.

Blending in with each other,
Indeed is their goal;
Individuality they fear,
Is as black as coal.

They try to dig themselves out,
But dig down too deep,
For the hole that they dig
Buries them ‘till they sleep.

And they cannot awaken
From this dreadful slumber
Because they all fell asleep
Together, in one number.


For some reason, as I began to type, the words of The Danger of Masks came to my mind. I wrote this poem during the first semester of my senior year. I really do like it, though. My cousin Mary bought me the game "True Colors" for either Christmas or my birthday, I don't really remember which one it was, when I was 16. She wanted me to remember to act the way that I really am inside. She wanted me to be myself and not wear a mask. That was probably some of the best advice that I've had. I've often reflected on her wisdom. However, it can be difficult to be true to oneself. There is constant pressure to join in with others, or act a different way to please someone. However, I know that if I can't be myself around someone, then they aren't the type of person that I should hang around. One of the more difficult things about this is that I'm pretty versatile. However, I suppose I'm not versatile enough to completely change myself to adapt myself to others' standards. "Naught can endure but mutability"--Percy Byshe Shelly.