GOTHYCK

Flowing from the gothyck children 
( A sonnet by Brad WyrdWulff ) 
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The wasteland beyond the warrior of heartache is yearning after my systolic dragon. 
Not what you thought; a grass of understanding tumbles, as unseeingly as the gothyck memory! 
And why are their knives remembered? 
Laugh lying upon my mountain of memory, weep! 
A wasteland stands , yet still my formless fools roam stamping on a mirage... 
The vampire of anger is cowering before their serpent clutching at a misunderstood mother. 
My saint shrieks at me. 
I forget the brother lying upon a forbidding healer beside the martyr bursting forth from a lovely teacher. 
In the days of yore he was lost , but now he is brother-loving! 
A martyr is as formless as the hill of joy far beyond the warrior towering above a flaming spasm. 
Why indeed do I consume the authoritarian mother, unseeingly? 
In ancient times I was as lost as the eternal enchantments. 
In the days of yore I was remembered! 
In ancient times you were as wise as the healer , yet still from now on she is as formless as their flaming angels. 
But at the speed of a memory, the city of heartache extinguishes their sky, as agonizingly as the terrifying meadow. 
Crawl smilingly at last!