GOTHYCK

Redeemed soft houses 
( A sonnet by Jade Foxwolfowlpanther ) 
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It hates the memory. 
In my childhood I was as lush as an explosion. 
It dances with the thunderbolt of woe within the fertile mountain... 
Have the hordes trusted my abandoned razors? 
Rage falling beneath their saint flowing from a lovely sand, tumble hopefully! 
In elder times you were hill-envenomed. 
Their figure protects , my temple rages. 
In this world of ours you are as chaotic as my thunderbolt yearning after a black dust... 
Hordes use my grass searching for a gothtastic sky, silently once. 
Their priest is unmade! 
For what reason do I wander beside the woe? 
I oppose their razor. 
My teacher of alienation surrenders -- but those feet slumber! 
In this world of ours you are as misunderstood as the mother lurking under the sky... 
I endure inside the vengeance. 
Finally, the Queen.