Words in sleepy night slip past as silvered fish in a heaving deep sea, effortless
Catch them lightly or a shoal quivers away in dreams, leaving me comfortless.



Note for Night Fisher 1 and 2: How often I find thoughts like flotsam floating through the disconnect of sleep to be caught at once or, left until morning, gone forever.



Asleep yet stirring, deep-water thoughts swim upwards from the ink-black ocean where all is blind
Bursting through jostling fathoms to hunt in shoals through the sunken valleys of my midnight mind.



I call on our PM to stop it
Before I troop out there and cop it.



Still commenting on one of our campaigns, this time Afghanistan.  Please note:  in the British Army of the 19th Century, a detachment of  men would be chosen to make an attack which all knew to be suicidal, thereby making it highly unlikely that any would survive. This detachment was known as The Forlorn Hope.