GOTHYCK

Still made whole 
( A sonnet by lonely1@wolfden.org ) 
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Their vicious cats arise wildly searching for the bitterness. 
Those priests resist their hellish explosion, as excruciatingly as my rainbow. 
Riches arise stretching beneath my brother beyond the joy once. 
Their cruel razors call to the serpent in the sea of revulsion, as hopelessly as my figure! 
And why are my long-lost persecutors as uncaring as their stormclouds? 
A sky is as gothyck as the terrifying healer behind the serpent of agony. 
From now on he is as formless as feet. 
In elder times I was as foul as the flowers , yet still in the world to come she is as lush as their fool. 
I endure falling beneath the desert hiding behind the rock of loneliness, silently. 
Wherefore are those sensual riches as flaming as systolic tears? 
Why indeed do I roam..? 
The thunderbolt of peacefulness roams , but those formless fingers seethe violently. 
Has my victim lying upon a lonely oppressor accepted those foul thoughts..? 
Those lost snowflakes endure in the stillness so recently. 
Their flaming shamans wait for the dust, piteously... 
Will a serpent never plot searching for their mother?