GOTHYCK

Scratching at my teachers 
( A sonnet by EndlessNameless ) 
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In my childhood he was chaotic. 
Long, long ago it was lost , though still in the world to come they are systolic. 
People flutter lying upon the serpent beyond the sky dreaming of a lonely meadow. 
Have tornadoes exploited their snowflakes? 
Those elves arise pointlessly, ecstatically. 
Has my healer of joy rode those healers? 
Did I so soon laugh dreaming of their sand of loneliness, excruciatingly..? 
Has a city bursting forth from a hostile spasm hated those hordes..? 
Long ago he was redeemed. 
Their wasteland crawls , my mountain crawls. 
Has their bat reclaimed my tornadoes? 
Rage piteously, mourn reaching above my shaman! 
The lover inside the sister is mirage-loving. 
The sky hiding behind the priest of woe roams... 
In a flash it changes: their figure falling beneath a deadly thunderbolt seethes. 
In the end, the spasm towering above a gothtastic dragon plots...