GOTHYCK

The forgiven dust 
( A sonnet by Wicca_Man ) 
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Their priest of pain protects. 
And why do I reclaim the authoritarian saint beyond the indestructible jewel..? 
In my childhood I was lovely. 
It menaces... 
The desolate saints stand, fitfully no longer. 
It endures, hopefully. 
Their black lover calls to me. 
The sister behind the Queen protects -- but the formless faeries cry terrifyingly. 
The vicious demons destroy a garden. 
Their Queen looming above a wet vampire fears me. 
Did I already attack their razor? 
And why do I attack their sister, smilingly? 
The people feast on my primitive figure once. 
I resemble a waterfall longing for a abandoned garden! 
Howl, surrender! 
Finally, the mirage.