GOTHYCK

My rock bursting forth from a wise razor 
( A sonnet by pagan1234@hotmail.com ) 
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It struggles. 
Those misunderstood wounds laugh appallingly. 
A mysterious figure denies, appallingly! 
It infests the hellish dragon far beyond the hostile grass. 
Why indeed are their spirits priestess-like? 
The lover of loneliness lurking under the grass extinguishes me. 
And yet the sinuous martyr resists my shaman of woe, hopefully! 
The rock dances with me. 
Endure flowing from a mother of loneliness, struggle! 
It weeps. 
The chaotic spasm roams, agonizingly. 
Wherefore do I struggle, as thunderously as a rainbow? 
The lost victim uses me... 
In my childhood she was made whole. 
Before Man you were unfulfilled. 
I laugh, hopefully!