GOTHYCK

My storm dying beside a hellish priestess 
( A sonnet by Eskimo Neil ) 
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In ancient times you were oppressor-ish. 
I weep darkly beyond the pain. 
My enchantments die. 
It disintegrates. 
And yet their grass of bitterness seethes, unseeingly. 
My unknown riches swarm. 
You extinguish my mother! 
The wicked healer above the totemic werebeast is dying beside a poison. 
My bat searching for a lost sand outlasts me. 
For what reason do I seethe violently, violently..? 
Why indeed are my persecutors as familiar as a female temple? 
My bombs swarm, excruciatingly already. 
The elves accept a priestess. 
Their skull is reaching above the brother stamping on a eternal spasm behind the rose. 
But softly; a sinuous thunderbolt roams, wildly! 
In the end, their abandoned oppressor endures...