After the Ache

After the Ache

After the ache, what will be left in me to replace it?
Will this ragged break across my heart
Leave an unsightly scar?
Pain is supposed to fade,
But I bear no cuts or bruises; I have no broken bones,
Nothing that can be cured by medical magicians
Waving scalpels and neat white pills (painkillers always look the
same).
Bring me something in a small, plastic cup,
Bourne by a uniformed maid.

Pain does not fade, it is simply overtaken
By more pressing matters,
Pushed to the back of brains
And always comes back, laden with grudges, at 2 a.m.,
When sleep has run away.

Distance and Time
I never considered them ugly words before,
But now they're the standard-bearers,
Not carrying our colours, but dragging them on the floor
Once so bright, now badly faded,
The End of Us
Has been paraded.

I line up my ammunition,
Ten green bottles, regimental fashion,
A glass full of redcoats to anaesthetise,
All I need - a brief reprise.