Their uncaring rose 
( A sonnet by The Vampire Darren ) 
Has my storm of abandonment shrieked at their mysterious healers? 
I endure searching for the meadow of revulsion. 
My warriors endure, as soundlessly as the storm clutching at the memory scratching at a cruel wasteland! 
Have those reptiles hid their cold eyes? 
The wolves twirl unseeingly still. 
Did I no longer stand through the desolation..? 
Have their black reptiles destroyed those raindrops? 
Why indeed are those systolic spirits as helpless as the deadly sand? 
Wherefore are the stupid stormclouds familiar..? 
Those stormclouds defy their saint, as violently as their martyr of frustration nevermore. 
The city of pain in the thorn of bitterness discovers me. 
In my childhood they were terrifying , yet still in the modern world she is victim-loving! 
I slumber! 
It plots. 
Speak, plot dreaming of the healer of joy far above the razor! 
In the garden, after the rain.

Original URL: (has been defunct for some time)

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