Tsunami

It is peaceful, though an imperfect imitation,
The ocean rises as if by design or invitation.
Ascending to heights that tower over the life below,
In the depths they prepare, for somehow, they know.
The mainland knows it as well, this solemn routine,
Familiar with this nurturer and destroyer, for little lies between.
Just some ramshackle sea walls built for combat,
Not meant for this cataclysm, not built for this impact.
Hear the howling anguish of the waves, see the devastation wreaked,
Touch the weary hands of a survivor, taste the hopeless, bitter bleak,
Scrambling for shelter, but no true solace can be found,
The coastline utterly transformed into a burial ground.
Scattering the ashes of those lost to the ocean’s might,
Survivors locating a safe place to sleep in the coal black night,
All will return to balance, though threatened by what gives them life,
Sacred in that it provides protection and causes conflict, terror, and strife.
Harmony and discord colliding in a ceaseless whirlpool,
Deciding who lives and dies, however apathetically cruel,
Haunted and enchanted by your picturesque spell,
Luring those to become trapped on your endless carousel.