An Age Old Problem

The crimson color of the dying leaves

Remind me of when I was there: in relief.

I watch the colors float off the branches

And the clouds are perfectly fluffy.

The creator of all this fashioned a thought

Leading to that of an experiment.

Until at last, humans watching this

Could feel at least a fraction of wholeness.

In truth, the mastery of beauty in the world

Was and is the true work of Divinity.

But yet we are still here

Left to bask in the perfection therein.


Furthermore, we know that although

Some are still depressed and oppressed.

This is an age old problem

One with which we have dealt.

How can one be so sad

In a world filled with such beautiful things?

Colors, people, places, and monuments

Are just some of the additives, factors.

Man was given this freedom,

So the problem will continue to age…


Copyright 2014 Isaiah M. Williams


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741