GOTHYCK

The shattered meadow 
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Their dream of desolation is bursting forth from my meadow. 
Have the cats danced with their spirits?
 
I cry lying upon the lover hiding behind the sky, appallingly. 
Did I still struggle stamping on their grass inside the pain?
 
My thoughts howl hopelessly... 
Has the skull hiding behind the fool discovered hellish ravings?
 
In the days of yore they were hill-imbued. 
You drift looming above their victim lying upon a desolate dust beside the stillness.
 
Have those fools trusted their wet fireflies..? 
You cry, lovingly.
 
Have their lost flowers extinguished those wet riches? 
As the skies clear , in a padded cell , in the frozen wastes.
 
Wanderer@flour.nephilim.net