Battle Of The Voices (contest prompt)

The prophet…walks along  the shores of man’s existence bowed,
the sea pockmarked with  tears like stars  night’s dark shroud;
time the emaciated vulture, circles  those buried in sand  beneath,
a  peace of  olive branch clenched loosely between  their  teeth.

The prophet…stands still on the shores of man’s existence bowed,
voice drowned out by the advancing tide, an army well endowed;
foresees  the mere shells of men that shall  lie  silenced forever,
and  the children's  castles,  its  dreams they’ll cruelly  sever.

The prophet…kneels  on  shores of man’s existence head bowed,
with his last dying    breaths  he  prays then  shouts  aloud;
to those calling evil good and good evil the tsunami won’t miss,
whose bondage is  mistaken for  freedom, ignorance for bliss.

The prophet…lifeless on shores of man’s existence, his friends weep,
for one who  gave  his life  as they  basked  in the sun sound  asleep;
heads bowed foreseeing those swallowed by the gluttonous beast,
as  hell  circles like a vulture, over the drowning,  ready to  feast.