GOTHYCK

No longer remembered 
( A sonnet by Excessus ) 
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And why do I hate my grass? 
The priest far above the oppressor mourns , yet still long-lost priests arise... 
For what reason do I seethe wildly, as violently as the serpent flowing from a unknown victim? 
Vicious hordes struggle yearning after their skull, terrifyingly nevermore. 
Have my shamans hated my flames? 
Long ago you were orgasmic! 
But wait -- my brother feasts on the stupid grass, restlessly! 
Their priest menaces , the meadow crawls. 
Why, why do I flutter searching for the victim of grief lurking under the mirage, as vainly as my sea of frustration? 
The memory of desolation far beyond the cold waterfall seethes , my abandoned Queen speaks... 
In ancient times you were unforgiven. 
But softly; the brother knows the healer. 
Speak, endure fitfully! 
From now on I am misunderstood! 
Has the werebeast dying beside a eternal wasteland reclaimed their shamans? 
In my childhood she was uncaring -- but presently they are as unknown as their tornadoes.