A temptress, the sea

Gentle waves,
Inching up the beach.
Soft whispers,
They calmly beseech.
Murderous waves,
Pounding the cliffs.
Roaring thunder,
Yet bringing relief.

For the sea is alive,
With a temper her own.
And she speaks her moods,
In her own tone.

A temptress, the sea,
A very fatal one.
How many a calm sea,
Had caused a man undone?
With calmness she lures,
Drawing into her lair.
Then a storm she becomes,
Driving one to despair.
As her hands sweep by,
One after another,
Washing off the deck,
Brother after brother.
Screams and cries,
For help they raved,
All these before,
A watery grave.

As sudden as the storm,
The calmness returns.
Yet on the deck,
My heart burns.
In anguish and frustration,
At the temper she had thrown.
What right has she?
To leave me alone?
My brothers in the water,
Their luck at the end.
The torment of drowning,
I cannot apprehend.

A team we were then,
With confidence we left.
We thought it was simple,
And our skills deft.

But now we are but one,
A lonely soul in water.
Desperately seeking land,
Yet not seeing for that matter.
Lost I had become,
How long can I hold fast?
Before the pains of hunger,
Make me breathe my last.

I am a son of the sea, so the sea is no stranger to me. She is often described using the feminine pronoun, as her tempers are like a woman. A storm at sea is like a woman spurned, and that is what this is all about.