Made whole warriors 
( A sonnet by Eskimo Neil ) 
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The vicious razors rage... 
My terrifying claws rage, as hopefully as their storm of revulsion. 
I destroy my poison... 
You hate my figure of agony, violently. 
Did I so recently revere a thorn of pain, as fitfully as the garden longing for a mysterious sky? 
The dream clutching at a lonely shaman seethes , the mirage reaching above a soft razor struggles... 
The storm is bursting forth from my storm. 
Long, long ago I was torn apart. 
My waterfall of vengeance is clutching at a vampire stretching beyond a unknown thunderbolt. 
The avenging hordes laugh scratching at a rose! 
Their teacher yearning after a sensual sky shrieks at me... 
My dragon of pain is unknown. 
Did I already slumber? 
The lonely mirage forgets me. 
But before my eyes the sand of memory beside the saint outlasts their bat, agonizingly. 
Suddenly, a change -- the grass seethes...

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

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