Oftentimes poems are made,
Of streams and tides,
Ponds in plains.
Oftentimes those poems describe,
A meaning behind them,
Sometimes good,
Often wise.
My view of the tide is eternal,
An endless push and pull.
It lends and retakes,
It soakes and it parches,
But relative to those who use it,
Oftentimes men of the sea,
It doesn't care, doesnt use
It simply is, it simply should,
Be seen as an empty ideal,
A metaphor overused,
One of many, a catalogue,
Many times perused.
So, ironically, it is often,
That creativity is forgotten,
And then poets resort,
To cliche sorts,
Oftentimes poems of the sea.
