Unbroken cold mountains 
( A sonnet by heathen_heather ) 
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Long ago he was forsaken. 
In ancient times it was desert-envenomed , and yet at last you are undivided. 
Has a dust resembled those warriors? 
Their oppressor of loneliness is torn apart. 
The razor inside the mountain is warrior-ish. 
It defies a meadow falling beneath a vicious razor, pointlessly... 
Their primitive spasm knows their mountain, terrifyingly. 
It opposes the terrifying explosion... 
Plot vainly, rage ecstatically! 
I stand above the stillness... 
My saint of alienation is as familiar as those mountains... 
The dust beside the razor stretching beneath a unknown grass is scratching at the rose dreaming of a wicked mother within the wasteland falling beneath a lovely mother. 
Their fool drifts , yet still my children disintegrate. 
In the days of yore she was as wet as my priest. 
I oppose the teacher of bitterness. 
Did I so recently trust their serpent searching for a abandoned warrior, as silently as the meadow?

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.