The way to work.

To travel this well-trodden path once more.

Sauntering, stumbling, shuffling.

The journey familiar but in due course

I pass new people and see new things.

Things I thought I knew for sure were never there,

but now I'm second-guessing their previous existence.

In the distance my goal.

My destination.

Between us a vast expanse of pavement.

Without concentration I'll be there in seconds,

but writing this keeps me focused on how far I have to go.

So I think I'll stop.

Writing.

Stormclouds.

Like a giant wave crashing;

Such a beautifully terrifying sight.

A cloud breaking in slow, silent might.

A Nimbostratus the foam,

Mare's Tail the spray.

Imaginary titans of ships groan, gargantuan sailors pray

As their vessel sways and tumbles atop the coming storm.

To and fro' the boat will go;

Forever sailing the skies.

It's bow forging ahead into the heights

For a hundred thousand days.

00:53

I think there's something forming.

Yes.  I'm quite sure of it.

I don't know whether to leave it for the morning.

If I do, it may be forgotten.

I'll scramble for my phone and make a note before it's too late.

Ideally I'd use a pen and paper

but there's not enough light and I'd stir my wife awake.

For her sake I'll strain to make out what I'm writing on this tiny screen.

I'll probably realise tomorrow it's not as important as it seems right now.

But it's purpose tonight is to be out of my head

to stop me tossing and turning restlessly in bed

while I come up with variations of this poem unsaid

that may prove to be...

gooder...

than it turned out here.

Poem.

I've never been taught this.

Never been advised.

Never been told.

But I find myself thinking things like "Should I get a thesaurus?

Because describing everything as 'nice' might get old."

I just thought I'd narrate what I see and how I feel about it.

Attaching some sort of metaphor to make an everyday bloke's musings seem poignant.

If I can spell it right.

To be honest I don't know if it is a metaphor.

Using a thesaurus for this may be something to forgo.

I'll get a dictionary so my ignorance doesn't show.

Quiet buzz.

Waiting in the night as quiet streets around me lie.

The clip-clop of shoes and the hum of the odd car passing me by

as across the road I hear faint music.

It's rhythm soothing but volume proving

that the hearing of that particular flat's occupant is not what it may used to have been.

Sirens break the silence and a flurry of lights appear 

only to vanish again just as quickly as they were first seen.

It seems that to exist here after hours one must be but for a moment.

Your second could be well spent.

A passing group of friends ask loudly for a cigarette.

I politely decline.