Distance

Stretched. Wide between
The lives
That moved, endlessly
To the beat of the insistent
Drums of ambition and
What was expected.
Soon, the cracks
Became chasms
Into which moments
Fell, unattended
And words tumbled,
Never said, or half said.
It was all calm, like a
Dead sea
On a still, airless day
With no wind or a wave
To ruffle surfaces.

The drums beat on
And the chasm
Widened
Hungrily.

The little voice

It's always whispering,
Muttering curses, little bits of
Self-flagellation.
It's soft, and often hides
Around company, shy,
Doesn't like to be shown-off much.

It's a nag, though! Constant,
Creeping,
Inspired, with an Imagination
That is vivid, artistic
Almost!

I shut it up, swat at it,
Tell it to eff off,
And it retreats, for a bit,
When the sun shines and the grey cells
Stay busy.

But back in the quietude,
Its favourite hunting-ground,
It springs,
Vicious, like a marauding
Predator, on my dreams.