I was born with blue eyes,
as empty as the sky on a cloudless day
and as clear as the water lapping up the shore of the beach.

Soon I went to school,
learned my alphabet
and the difference between they're and their,
and I became a writer.
My eyes were brown
and they saw the sky in words
and the ocean in lyrics and verse.

Next, I learned to color inside the lines
and that yellow and purple were complementary,
and I became an artist.
My eyes were green,
and they saw the sunset as a palette of dying hues
and the ocean as a living watercolor.

And when I asked why,
I became a philosopher,
and the specks of doubt shone gold in my eyes.
I learned to feel small when I looked at the stars,
and to seek truth in the vast unknowns of the sea.

So now I have the artist's eyes,
with pupils the black of spilled ink,
with irises of blended paints,
with whites of forgotten dreams.
And only when I close them
do I see myself.