When he was born, his eyes were blue.
Blue, like the sky and the ocean,
Free and limitless and unadulterated.
It was almost as if, should you look hard enough,
You could see into his soul.
Pure and untainted.

As he grew, his eyes became brighter,
Reflective of the yearning inside of him,
A symbol of his youth, his childish joy and wonder.
As if that sky had surpassed its boundaries and flooded into the heavens,
As if that ocean had overstepped its limits and doused the horizon.

He grew and grew, and as his body grew so did his heart:
He lived not for himself, but for others.
Those eyes, which opened directly into his sole, were wide with that childish awe,
Open to the sorrows of the world,
The sorrows which others blacked out from view.

A blink of those blue eyes and there he was, on a hospital bed.
Surrounded by people he once knew,
People he would likely forget.
They would come and go, wish him well,
Ask if he remembered the times when he did this, the times when he didn't do that, the times where he should have done something else.

And they left as night fell,
When the nurses came and put him to bed,
Alone, as he had once been, but now afraid, uncertain.
And he cried, for the first time, tears of baby blue,
Neon streaks upon his cheaks,
illuminated by the moonlight.

And by the time he closed his eyes, those vibrant blue eyes,
They were gray.