This is What We Have Created (Revised)

Waves crash on the shore,
piecing away the land more and more,
the angry beating constant, frequent;
it’s accidental, nothing’s meant
by the slow destroying of the world’s core.
Then the sad stillness ferments,
and solemnity becomes the instrument
that carries the souls of the dead
and instills wonder in the living heads
who ponder the sea’s intent.
Nothing in the sea’s company can be said,
no joy, no ecstasy, no love of deep red,
to fill the depression
inside the infinite obsession
of the sea’s love for enticing dread.
Thus, mortals look on their own transgression
and hide their faces within the repression
in the example of the sea,
unchanging as it will always be,
and add salty water to their digression.