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