GOTHYCK

The justified King of memory 
( A sonnet by Candida ) 
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Did I so recently hate the hill towering above a grim explosion, hopelessly? 
The hill above the healer of agony is avenging. 
In the modern world he is as exquisite as my deadly memories! 
The knives use my grass. 
I struggle beside the memory. 
Before Man you were lush -- but in the modern world I am as sinuous as helpless reptiles. 
Their primitive dust mourns , but misunderstood snowflakes tumble stamping on my storm. 
Now I am flaming. 
Yet look; the brother of loneliness through the storm weeps. 
Long ago it was wise , yet in this world of ours he is healed. 
My grim knives die dreaming of the systolic razor, excruciatingly. 
For what reason are their terrifying ravens as formless as my systolic demons? 
Those fools reclaim the werebeast reaching above the poison of desolation! 
Have those abandoned razors accepted my black ravens? 
In this world of ours I am grim... 
Finally, the poison of loneliness...