When emaciation had taken its toll
His eyes were sunken in, closed, and hollow
The life slipping from them slowly
Understanding was no closer
All that was left for him was the end
The final stages of the suffering that haunted him
The hunger that held tight to him in these final moments
The desire and want and need
All would be gone soon
Nothing was left to take
Nothing was left to give
The last step was the loss of what he saw before him
The blood slowly coursed through him
He opened his eyes
The tree and air and grass and sun all were in front of him
This was the moment
Maybe this had always been the moment
Maybe this would always be the moment
There was color in the world
There was a color in all things
There was the dark red of his blood
There was the brown bark of the tree
There was the green of the grass
There was the golden yellow of the sun
There was the white swirling wind of the storm of existence
Lingering and circling in the air around all of it
There were his eyes
Through which his slowly diminishing life force met the storm
He faced the end
He saw the storm was not actually white
The storm was all colors
The storm was everything at once
The storm was always there
He had never seen the storm
Gene G. McLaughlin 2013
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