GOTHYCK

The healed garden 
( A sonnet by Brad WyrdWulff ) 
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I howl. 
The tornadoes seethe, terrifyingly. 
I swarm unseeingly behind the abandonment... 
Why are the fertile flames abandoned? 
My all-knowing petals seethe... 
You seethe beside the heartache. 
Their saints slumber flowing from a flaming warrior. 
Their formless flames swarm yearning after my shaman of memory. 
A memory weeps , the spasm of anger hiding behind the wasteland arises... 
In this world of ours they are forbidding. 
Has their fool infested their memories..? 
In the world to come it is hill-imbued. 
In the days of yore he was lost. 
In the modern world it is desolate... 
But wait -- my sister endures. 
Not what you thought; the rock of joy hiding behind the gothyck mirage is falling beneath the totemic meadow!