The Wreckage, my life!

[Brownlie]

I like you because you commented on my dribble.

The wreckage, my life!

Chaos, enchantment at sea. -- Chaos= I think of inchoate crap. Like the stuff before the light of the word and whatnot in a mythical sense. So I sort of get the churning tide of emptiness. 
Waves billowing in a tide of emptiness. -- "of emptiness" doesn't jive with me. It's like saying the burdened cankles of love. 
Jaws dropping, a sight of wonderment eyes behold! -- Shouldn't need jaws dropping and a sight of wonderment. That's redundant!
Gushes of water, an explosion of white waves. -- The "ofs" seem cumbersome.
Parchments of sea breeze filling lungs with pain. -- Pain seems way too abstract. I can call on pity by saying pain, but skeptical people would be pissed off if I didn't justify the abstraction. 
 
A roulette of emotion, tied to nature so dangerous yet so exquisite. -- Another "of" plus 2 "so" in this line. Clean up needed.
A heart soaring to experiment with unknown sights. -- Too abstract. Would also avoid phrases like "heart soaring," which may seem cloying to bitter adjuncts reading poems. 
Ears seeking salvation, from the echoes of a rescue ship.
A silence that seemingly fills the earth my ears behold. -- Is "my ears behold" an inversion? Plus ears don't behold, they hear stuff usually.
Lost in an island, tidings not heard of for miles.
It’s a lost course, a beautiful torment.
Deliberations fill the mind as to what ought to be done?
When hunger pangs, start to shout a melody so carefree yet tormenting.
A keeper’s finders to treasures unknown.
 
A life well lived, a storm and a wreckage it shall seem.
A pound of flesh given to keep the pangs at bay. -- Shylock wants his lox on the Goldbergs.
The beauty of it all despite the toils, pain and loss. -- This line is cliched sort. At this point, readers must discover beauty in the face of pain. You can't tell them and make it so. Unless your John Mellencamp and singing hurts so good. 
Gushes of emotion an outpour of life’s beauty -- an outpour of life's beauty is too cloying. 
My eyes old and wise know the silence is His presence always.
Near the end awaiting salvation, true life treasures I find. -- I find life's true pleasures would be better even if you sacrifice meter IMO.
Billowing in a tide, a post of lamented days.
A beauty surreal and precious my life…

I can't think straight right now, and I turned on hurts so good before I finished critiquing. That being said, I like chaos and roulette in the same poem. Its like the mariner or something. Thanks!