Beneath the surface of words, the waves escape
as the poets mourn in the dream of time.
Tears of the young ones whisper in their stillness,
as the ocean weeps along with them.
Beyond this moment the waves turn,
to the soul infecting time within.
Longing for the cold mountain of words
from the dying poet escape,
among the shadows of greatness.
This poem was inspired by a random line generator I found on a Google search. The line generators serve to inspire writers of any medium. I wanted to try and make a poem using majority of the words off the generator.