The wave

A wave has potential, it washes the shore

Spitting new things out onto the land

Little treasures for beachcombers to find

It also can drag little rocks, sand, and animals out

To depths of uncertainty where they perish 

You can ride in the crook of it, being propelled 

Forward toward the shore, cruising amidst

The splendor of the curve, riding in accomplishment

Young people like to jump into them catching

The momentum of being rocked to the tips of 

Their toes by it's force, a time of play in the wonder

We cannot make the wave sustain itself

It breaks the shore in tiny reverberations 

Until it dies down or is caught in the constant

Rolling sea at the whim of tides and wind

It does not make itself, it is born in terms of wake and break

Our journies in life sometimes mirror these 

Same flows being created in waves of waking and breaking

Being caught in the thrill of the ride and then

Brought to depths where we perish or are reborn

Cast in the shore as a treasure we have found

And limited in our understanding of why it happens

Or how we encounter it until we are cast into

The arms of the One greater than we and proclaim

Our lostness in it's power, thrown upon uncertainty

Yet somehow we remain blessed