Not Yet Famous (Poetry)

Expectation is a subtle curse
that others lay on lightly — early days
generous and singing lavish praise
and goading with warm smiles to climb those heights
bold words that stick — forever-haunt
                                        cold nights.

And small successes come
then quickly go.
Euphoria melts — brief
                        as summer snow
transitory — gleaming with strange light
the holy grail then vanishes
                        from sight.

So close
and yet the sheer imagined gap
                        still yawns so vast
and faith has proved too frail
to bridge fame’s silver stream
while fickle sun
that rose so hopeful once
                        is sinking
                                fast
and morning’s promise fades
                                to a pipe dream.