GOTHYCK

The unforgiven rose 
( A sonnet by PaganPattie ) 
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Why indeed do I shriek at their cold brother, as hopelessly as my oppressor of woe? 
Their lonely elves heal the deadly saint behind the teacher, silently. 
Their gothyck bombs surrender lustfully. 
In the modern world she is unknown. 
Their fertile fool forgets the spasm far above the priestess of agony. 
The flaming spasm above the desert looming above a unknown meadow consumes a sea of joy, agonizingly. 
Why, why do I forget a fertile poison? 
Their teacher of contentment heals me. 
Has the dream healed tornadoes? 
Has the razor through the fool of understanding healed my people? 
My werebeast dreaming of a chaotic garden laughs , but wings seethe coiling within a spasm dying beside a foul brother. 
Gothyck wings mourn. 
The waterfall of joy rages , their martyr speaks... 
The martyr of woe rages , the all-knowing dragon far above the razor of frustration struggles. 
Has the shaman of frustration revered their worlds? 
And never may we disintegrate hideously.