Soliloquy for Curiosity

I remember her like a sunset.

Vibrant in color and mysterious in form.

Here, for a painted moment.

A mere brushstroke of enthrallment.

And then as quick as she lit up, so natural and bright,

she fell into the horizon of red, blue and starry dreams.

And with the strength of an storm, flew far, far away into the golden hue of opportunity.

And that was when I watched my love and all her beautiful, twisted thoughts, decay…

I watched as humble sight-seeing became violent vision matches.

As the universe became a racetrack of panthers with asses for heads.

How the wisest and boldest of men became the prey of the money-bagging hyenas; watching, waiting for contraptions of genius to spur out of the flower pot heads, only then to be plucked out from the stem to the roots; Leaving barely any soil left for planting new seeds of thought.

I saw the sculptured ideas of artists become the constructed advertisements for illusionists. I watched a beautiful idea become transformed by the possibility addict and his companion, the boldness junkie.

Adventure became manipulating women who allowed for no wrong turns. Conversation has become an electric fruit that Eve and Adam couldn’t even resist. And the world has learned to be content with the plastic, medicated joy and drunken success they think they have achieved. But worst of all, I have become a distant memory.

My love doesn’t even think about me any more.

She is too consumed in facts and logic and information that she has forgotten the source of those elements. She has forgotten that all those are paths not destinations. And they lead to an idea not an item.

My love tells answers rather than seeks truth.

And truth is the only way to make a thought an idea.

Truth makes books into stories.

Paintings into feelings.

Technology into advancements.

Truth is also the only way to discern between a fact and a lie.

Truth is a beautiful enlightenment, and my love is lacking this beacon of life.

I can see it in her plastered face and famined form.

In her hopeless eyes and deafened ears. I see how you hurt my love, and oh how I wish I could go back to that shore where you first appeared on the horizon. Full of vibrance and innocent rays of warmth. So much hope in your pure face. You may not know, but it was at this moment that I came to be.

I am yours.

You brought out the best in every part of me. And killed everything I was.

But I still love you.

And you can bring it back, my twisted moon dance. My peculiar masterpiece. My intriguing perception.

You can bring my glory back if you wish.

Only if you wish.

But ah, my darling, I cannot make you. It is your decision and yours alone.You have allowed me to fade in the darkness as the poison of contorted notions has overtaken your light.I cannot make you shine, I cannot give you joy, I cannot exist in a state of “okay.”I can only live if there is a longing and something to long for.

And when there’s nothing to long for, nothing to discover, no truth to be learned…

That is when I, precious and ever waiting, must remain in the shadows.

I, your curiosity, must wait until the shadow I linger in is once again brighter than the darkness.


A poem from the future

Beautiful and thought provoking 🙂

Editor’s note: This poem kicks off a new “Question Worth Asking” series: “How weird will the future be?” First up: a piece from poet and TED Fellow Ben Burke.

[Dear Helen- So sorry. Didn’t have time to write that poem. But my future self sent me one yesterday. So we’re good. Crazy, right? It’s totally legit and actually from the future, so no need to double-check, you’re probably too busy anyway. Happy New Year!  – Ben Burke]



I arrived in the basket that was weaved here before me
And I stayed in any place with a roof that would store me
I have lots of belongings
But didn’t pack for the trip
I got here, they put pants on me
And then the world gave me the slip

I’ve lived as slowly as…

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