Who Painted The Leaves Poem by Murphy Payne

Who painted the leaves?
While I lay sleeping last night in my dreams
As my thoughts wondered through time
In the abyss of my mind

Who chose the colors unlike the rainbow
So dull and gloomy but fitting to those
Who feel this way when
The party is over

Was it Vincent or Paul or someone else of late
Depressed by his own fate
Yet showing us all
How life really is

Was it the color of the paint?
Or the love,
That didn’t go into every stoke or thought
Resembling that of an unwanted child

Who made the leaves fall from their home place
To the hardness of the ground to be stepped on by everything
And leaving a void
On the branches of life

When on soft breezy days they would dance for fun
Drawing in living things to admire their beauty
Tempting butterflies to mock their steps
While promoting the image that life is easy

Maybe it was the heavy rain and wind
That came down so fierce when the sky went dark
That mysterious force that takes unsuspecting souls away
So violently and sneaky, no matter their state of being

However, we must continue with our lives
Or fall prey to the forces described
And stepped on by those whom are selfish and alive
With wickedness

They will bring you down, just like the leaves
They will dampen you senses
And come at you strong
Leaving you week and old so defeat able

Your color is now black, and not that it’s wrong
Until you look up at that summer sky hue
Then you fight with yourself and realize that
You are alive and well because you appreciate everyday that’s given
Especially today