Tsunami Soup

The Soup is an Ocean, a sea of writers, wanting to be heard Each Poet is but a molecule, a single element, in the vast compound Each pen is the beginning, of a quake, far below the surface Culminating, larger, larger still, until it is an unrestrained motion With every thought, a ripple, with every stroke of the pen, undulation Until the writer completes their work the tremor becomes a full blown quake, Higher, higher with fevered pitch, the reader feels the movement begin From the very first word, until the water wall of words grow It continues to grow as we read on, when we reach the Apex of the poem We are overcast, with a shadow, the curl of the wave, waiting to envelop us As we reach the conclusion, final words, the very content of the Poets mind Comes crashing to the shore of our minds, the reality, of Tsunami Soup...