The Hurricane Season

Out there, somewhere, afar, too close
In a cerebral cortex the vortex grows
A quiescence descends upon the event horizon
The calm of a dawn, of a storm arising

Consanguine to a biblical depiction ascribed in scriptures
The unfolding cataclysm, is transferred within, via TV pictures
I glance outside to leaden skies and a passing squall
Knowing that the internal turmoil is in a temporary stall

I cannot, or will not, find any rhyme or reason
Regarding the delirium of the hurricane season
My thoughts despair, as if I've been cast adrift
As the maelstrom drowns me in a siren's tryst

Wind whipped and rain roiled reporters with climatic science
A remote control, a button pushed and I sink in a sea of silence
Somewhere, out there, the rattling wind's a menacing dirge
In a dark place, the slough of despond, for now's the scourge

Inside, outside, afar, too close
In my cerebral cortex the vortex grows
It's charcoal black, or shades of grey on greys
As the storm surge rises, I'm lost in waves