GOTHYCK

Flowing from their cruel stormclouds 
( A sonnet by WestCoastWerewolf ) 
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Has a vicious temple exploited those familiar fools? 
It arises, appallingly. 
Why, why do I seethe fitfully, as darkly as my bat? 
It weeps, lustfully. 
Their sea of grief is as authoritarian as an explosion. 
Their mountain rages , an avenging mountain seethes. 
Before Man she was desert-loving , though still in the world to come she is lush. 
Their Queen of stillness struggles , their helpless spasm stands. 
Long, long ago it was wet. 
A dust coiling within a female victim is yearning after a dust of memory! 
Has the deadly thunderbolt loved riches? 
My dust stretching beneath a all-knowing grass rides me. 
Lonely memories slumber. 
Why are their helpless trees as uncaring as their figure? 
It flutters... 
Seethe at last.