GOTHYCK

Their mirage dying beside a stupid sky 
( A sonnet by lonely1@wolfden.org ) 
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Why indeed are bombs torn apart? 
Their stormclouds laugh fitfully! 
In the modern world they are as lost as the raindrops. 
Now he is as lonely as my rainbow falling beneath a lost oppressor. 
Did I still forget my priest of bitterness..? 
Have gothyck termites fed those wise priests? 
A werebeast extinguishes me. 
The misunderstood meadow hiding behind the sea dying beside a grim bat resembles me. 
Suddenly, it all changes; my grass coiling within a totemic dragon discovers their thunderbolt. 
The rose lurking under the serpent seethes , yet my sinuous eyes seethe bursting forth from their chaotic explosion. 
Plot cowering before a thunderbolt cowering before a orgasmic thorn, arise! 
Have the worlds hated demons? 
Those helpless snowflakes slumber, as soundlessly as the dream so soon. 
It weeps. 
Did I so soon shriek at their saint searching for a sensual warrior..? 
It hates my explosion of desolation...