Sonnet 42, Every Word Has Billows Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Every word has billows and waves of sea,
Longitude towards open cloudily mist;
The branches that grow embellish a tree,
Soul of inner enigma and a twist.
Beautiful words echoes to futures ahead,
Gives all the longings - to want to write still;
Waves from the pen will never become dead,
If you can see the dream - over the hill.
Though glasses lie shattered among the few,
And roust's the way with nature and vital force;
It's up to the spirit inside of you:
Where lies the future and destiny course?
Yes write well and read - never be speechless,
For to tomorrow will someday come fresh.