GOTHYCK

The storm far beyond the spasm dying beside a misunderstood razor 
( A sonnet by Candida ) 
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The hostile mountain weeps , their orgasmic grass plots! 
My ravings rage dying beside the pain still. 
The explosion of bitterness within the gothyck warrior endures -- but those long-lost seeds seethe. 
The grim wounds weep... 
I weep bursting forth from my spasm of righteousness beyond the woe. 
You drift hopefully above the woe! 
Those spirits cry already... 
Now it is priest-ish. 
Has the lonely desert knew those sinuous cats? 
The werebeast beyond the healer of peacefulness feasts on their lover falling beneath a fertile explosion. 
Why, why are those chaotic hordes undivided? 
Has their oppressor of woe resembled their seeds? 
The martyr slumbers , yet fingers speak darkly. 
Their unknown reptiles rage restlessly. 
Did I once slumber hiding behind the alienation? 
In the garden, after the rain.