The Restless Waves Poem by Christopher Withers

I used to think the restless waves,
Touched the beach in sweet embrace,
Shaped its form with loving hand,
Bestowing gifts to charm its swain.

Now I see indifferent march,
Cold consumer of the land,
Loving hand replaced by teeth,
Eternal rock reduced to sand.

I used to think the restless waves,
Whispered softly to the wind,
Reaching up with frothing lips,
Imparting secrets with each kiss.

Now I see the silent words,
Shouting rage against the land,
A totem of the cold and dark,
Ever waiting for our hand.