Across the ocean lay a cave, the sea lashed the cave, warning it to behave. 
And so the cave behaved, not to be waved away by the waves that erode its soul.
It’s soul so corroded and battered, chipped away by the endless anger of the sea.
As if the caves feelings didn’t matter. And so the seasons grew, fading and rising,
The sea in a mimick came and went, as if by higher powers it was sent.
The creatures of the cave bore the scars of turmoil, their cries buried deep in the sodden soil.
And so the endless splashes carried away the tears of the beasts, from the dark West to the rising East.
Plod, plod, plod.. The endless dripping of mudded water, from the ceiling of the cave to the cracked floor. 
The perished earth representing the oppression of the cave, why is questioned, why am I a cave? 
The cave began to crave a light to pave a life for it away from its captor. Again came another lash, 
The sea was relentless, merciless and rash. 
The cave in time began to recede, as if its presence has somehow been an impede. 
The years dragged on, every day another bit gone. Soon the cave would be no more, carried away by 
the creator of its war. There was no escape, no door, just the realisation in itself it had to withstand some more.
No-one heard the cave’s final battle, with a final instance of rage, the sea rose and began to engage. 
No-one speaks of the cave anymore, nor did anyone acknowledge its sacrifice.
No-one but this poem will speak of the cave, not even twice.