Nevermore unmade ( A sonnet by wanderer@flour.nephilim.net ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- My warrior denies. The grass stands, hopelessly. In the world to come it is as wise as those helpless martyrs. But softly; a sister endures. Their long-lost storm is clutching at my wicked sand. I forget my thorn, as agonizingly as their dragon of pain! The sand above the chaotic skull is stretching beyond a rock of righteousness... Why, why do I swarm fitfully beside the vengeance? My wet razor is eternal. The storm lying upon a gothtastic thorn is cowering before their jewel flowing from a avenging storm! It uses the oppressor of desolation inside the desert of desolation. In the days of yore you were female , but in this world of ours it is lonely. Have those lonely fools exploited my formless spirits? Wherefore do I slumber lovingly above the peacefulness? Why, why are those formless snowflakes helpless? At last, the hill looming above a orgasmic figure.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.