Tip of the wave

What we see is the docile wave by the bay,

Lesser than what meets the winds half way,

Is actually the torrential treason

Defending away what snatches freedom.

Your upthrust is maddeningly strong

But these waves took so long.

You made them miss a beach,

Yet they stay out of your reach.

An outside lunar force hovers...

An iron shake pulls them over,

A resistance withstanding many moons,

Dark skies transpiring with veritable doom.

A battle at sea is inevitably cantankerous

Or is the water a bit frivolous,

A whirlpool resounds and ensues,

That which we can’t easily subdue.

It was droplets of independence they longed,

Feeling indescribably wronged.

Almost as though water was given

And then squeezed away without pardon.