Internal weather forecast:

Unpredictable, unstable; a possible drought lingers.

Raging storms, and emotions so forlorn.

They are distant, but the horizon predicts their attack.

Sneakily, but not without intention.

You, as the enemy, understand its presence fully:

This is not a storm that passes by morning.

Enduring, grueling, worthwhile.

A blissful tunnel may await, if the sun strikes just right.

But predicting chance is a hopeless gamble:

You are setting yourself on fire.

Flames- they dance and entice, nymphs of energy that swindle.

Yet again, it is honest and all know its force is true.

After a fire, there is often a calm so blue,

It fills, quenches, and stabilizes all imbalance.

Harmony in destruction,

We now begin to embrace entropy.