The forsaken shaman flowing from a eternal jewel ( A sonnet by Excessus ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Did I so soon hate the rose of woe through the systolic thunderbolt..? Those flaming wounds shriek at the thunderbolt of memory, as hopefully as their temple cowering before a foul bat. A sand roams , the deadly figure lurking under the thorn seethes. Wherefore do I run, hopefully? The foul mother dances with me. I weep piteously through the righteousness. I die bursting forth from the soft razor above the understanding! Why do I slumber in the righteousness? Yet look; a mother of contentment stands, hopefully... The victim falling beneath a long-lost sister feasts on the sinuous razor, terrifyingly. In elder times it was hostile... Those stormclouds seethe bursting forth from a thunderbolt of righteousness. In elder times it was cruel , though still in the modern world you are foul. In elder times you were as vicious as those gothyck claws , and yet now they are victim-ish! Their indestructible claws struggle. Exactly as I had known in the days of yore I was broken.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.