Life is multicolored leaves,
growing and leaving
season after season,
colors changing
falling in a breeze
then disintegrating,
before their siblings
start growing in their place.

It is a single child’s
growing smile
as laughter forms,
happiness before
she has learned
of the horrors of war.

It is nature’s dance,
as time makes us move,
as the wind plays through
vibrating, and moving,
taking light leaves
and turning these
tree things into
tiny ballerinas.

Life is self-reflected
to be inspected
and see all things
changing.
It is the mirror of ages
blank white pages
slowly writing themselves,
to be eventually forgotten.

It is deliciously beautiful
and frankly quite rotten,
a matter of perspective
and all humans got one.

I think its great fun
to try and define
what life is,
but I know it is
beyond this poem.