While walking and looking at the trees
With some leaves burned by the sun
Meshing with the green coloration
A single tree carrying the whole weight of a painting

But why can’t I see the marks of the brushing
Why can’t I see the warmth of the red leaves
Or the happiness in the spared green ones
Why can’t I see the beauty in it
Why this painting seems to scape life

The strangest feeling as I know,
In this tree I see most of what reality can be
Is the most my eyes can capture
Is the most my mind will shape anything
Ever

Yes it is life, and it is reality
But a cold one.
Or is it a burning one?
Seen by frozen eyes