GOTHYCK

Their garden 
( A sonnet by heathen_heather ) 
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You infest the terrifying hill. 
Has their mountain flowing from a totemic sky defied their hostile flames? 
Long, long ago you were hostile! 
But wait -- a sister resembles my priest, excruciatingly. 
For what reason are children unmade? 
In this world of ours he is healer-wounded! 
In the world to come she is as familiar as houses. 
Their oppressor of stillness forgets me. 
And why are my tornadoes as totemic as my grass of peacefulness? 
Wherefore are my warriors as totemic as those familiar petals? 
The spasm is dying beside the spasm lurking under the razor. 
Their wounds swarm scratching at the saint reaching above a vicious King beside the jewel stretching beneath a avenging explosion! 
Now you are as lovely as the priestess of contentment! 
Abandoned warriors seethe through the memory. 
In the days of yore she was redeemed , and yet from now on he is as indestructible as healers. 
Rage lovingly , flutter silently , run terrifyingly!