The Curse of Knowledge

I thought about them;

the words you spoke

before you left,

and I

realize now,

that I never understood them.



might have been the ramblings

of an old man,

trying to piece together

a view of the world that made some sense,

through the stained and cracked visage

of a battered psyche.



seem now to hold the feel

of deep,

and textured wisdom,

handed down

from stories told.

Of books inscribed

by candlelight

in the darkness.

Deep truths,

the kind that bind the world.


I heard you,

when you spoke;


or there would be nothing

to reflect on.


Yet, I had not yet faced

my own fear

and my own trials,

so my purchase

beheld a view

far too pristine

to perceive the nuance.


I didn’t know,

and so,

I didn’t understand.


Life had not yet

handed me victories

and then turned their sweet taste

to ashes,

with a single blow.


I did not yet know enough

to understand the fear,

that comes with having one’s

perceptions of the world


with the march of time.


It is no wonder

you struggled so,

with distilling all that experience

down into words

that you could speak.



I too,

face the terror of finality.

My vision becomes occluded,

and with each day that passes,

I understand more and more,

the curse of knowledge.


HG – 2019

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