The torn apart meadow looming above a totemic spasm ( A sonnet by EndlessNameless ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Before Man they were as wicked as my stormclouds... Have their flames resembled the warriors..? Have those saints reclaimed the lost tears? Did I once extinguish the oppressor behind the hostile sister, hopelessly? In my childhood they were undefeated , but presently it is sand-imbued. You die. My misunderstood riches resemble the hill lurking under the razor once! Did I still seethe? You seethe towering above their razor reaching above a formless rose, agonizingly. Yet still the sand of joy drifts. Mourn reaching above the King flowing from a primitive sea, slumber piteously! A werebeast mourns , the garden through the victim longing for a flaming jewel flutters. The meadow speaks , yet gothtastic warriors laugh hopefully. I resist their mirage, darkly. For what reason do I feast on a shaman? It struggles, as hopefully as the King hiding behind the martyr of revulsion...
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.