GOTHYCK

Yearning after my fools 
( A sonnet by Brad WyrdWulff ) 
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In a flash it changes: the brother of woe protects. 
My lonely mother is clutching at the city clutching at a familiar storm. 
Now you are cold. 
Have my fireflies resisted their foul people? 
In elder times they were misunderstood! 
Yet look; their rock crawls, lustfully... 
Have my persecutors danced with fireflies..? 
Did I so recently accept the grass of bitterness..? 
Has a city fed their gothyck eyes? 
The storm above the teacher infests me. 
A temple is long-lost. 
In the days of yore they were sensual! 
The helpless thunderbolt slumbers , a waterfall seethes! 
The skull of grief lurking under the stupid grass seethes, hideously! 
Has the poison waited for my werebeasts? 
In endless darkness , exactly as I had known , beyond thought and memory...