( poem | sonnet | epicpoem | happypoem )

The primitive temple 
In my childhood gothyck elves exploited. 
Their thorn of righteousness protects , the storm far beyond the wise thunderbolt disintegrates. 
Those bombs crawl restlessly. 
Wherefore are their abandoned wounds torn apart? 
You endure, as lustfully as the cruel spasm. 
Surrender soundlessly at last...

See jbrowse.com for the original code. The online version available there has been throwing a 500 for some time now, hence this page.