Upon the first discovery, as a child he received the sight.
The plight was unknown.
He entered into this God-forsaken world.
This magical truth of mystery and imagination.
Upon the second discovery, he as a young man believed it to be real.
The shifting shadows and dancing creatures half-seen mocked his attachment to his world.
It drove him half mad: contemplating worlds and ideas you could never imagine.
He searched for the door, but never could find it.
Upon the third discovery, as an old man the final nail was hammered into his coffin.
“It was real all along,” he exclaimed with piteous joy.
He knew it to be real.
He could now go and join the great festivities and enjoy life.
But he died.
Stephen Riordan. (Circa 2013).