Intelligence.
Something many strive for.

But, what of those
who never asked for it?

The ones who know ignorance only by definition.
The ones who watch the dance,
and understand every step.
The ones who hear every note
as though it’s screaming.

How is one to behave,
when they see it all?

Truth is absolute.
Knowledge comes at a price.
Yet, still others view it as a gift.

But, one has to ask themselves—
when does the line between knowledge
and self-destruction begin to blur?
When does the gift become the curse?

Is it when one becomes catastrophically aware?

Every detail a reminder
of how little one knows.
Seeing the futility,
where others see beauty.
An inescapable metamorphosis of the mind.

I suppose that is the struggle of the intellectual.

Even the most brilliant minds feel—
and how beautifully tragic it is.