Where do all the storms go
When they've been named and lost?
Where hung are capes of burnt snow
And dying tides are tossed.
Is it somewhere out at sea, or
Crumbling down a weary cliff?
Where earth and sky mix free, for
They load their cargo on a skiff
Said to be formed of thunder and
Nebulas of frozen rain!
Cages for the kind of fearsome, grand
Things that cannot be slain.
And they take it up to the top of the world
To lock each beast away
Where stars and dirt are met and swirled,
That's where tornadoes play.
Hurricane Archive, massive hollow dome,
A library of every wind!
The shelves all housing tsunamis of foam,
Every icicle that's ever grinned
In rows from the roofs and windows like teeth,
And the lightning that flashed in the night!
All the parchments fly round in a papery wreath
As the loose bits of chaos take flight!
Scrolls and bindings drifting off,
A cloud, a swarm, amuck
Pens to sheets from crest to trough.
Into crevices they tuck
The worst of storms- monstrosities,
Like plague and death and doom
That bide their time to take and seize
The Archive, plunge it into gloom.
