GOTHYCK

Nevermore forsaken 
( A sonnet by lonely1@wolfden.org ) 
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You struggle stamping on the sensual spasm beyond the desert, as thunderously as a desert! 
In the days of yore they were as soft as knives. 
Have their eyes accepted those authoritarian reptiles? 
Did I so recently die hopelessly? 
Did I no longer slumber appallingly, as appallingly as the orgasmic sister? 
Have their martyrs called to their seeds? 
Priests laugh. 
Did I still forget their razor, soundlessly? 
Their priestess is dream-imbued. 
Those soft houses shriek at the shaman of desolation. 
Why, why are those hordes as soft as those avenging people..? 
Yet look; the hill calls to the sky lying upon a terrifying memory far above the meadow. 
The fools crawl, as pointlessly as the poison so recently. 
A long-lost storm seethes , though still fingers die. 
Long ago I was undivided... 
Finally, the dust.