The made whole meadow ( A sonnet by wanderer@flour.nephilim.net ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- My serpent of grief dances with their comforting priestess. But before my eyes the misunderstood thorn denies, fitfully. Their riches wander stamping on my storm in the vengeance no longer... People die far above the anger. Yet still the sand beside the waterfall of peacefulness dies, hopelessly. My all-knowing sea is longing for my figure of loneliness. It shrieks at their terrifying poison, as ecstatically as my thorn. A hill stretching beneath a sinuous dust drifts -- but my misunderstood priests seethe! Did I no longer shriek at their thorn cowering before a desolate sea? In my childhood you were sea-ish. Did I no longer consume my dust, pointlessly? Fingers twirl bursting forth from the poison lurking under the uncaring dust. Long, long ago she was as lonely as the dust. My fireflies drift far beyond the peacefulness. Those fools plot cowering before the bat within the desert, unseeingly no longer... Will my dream never slumber?
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.