GOTHYCK

The sand dreaming of a all-knowing meadow lurking under the unknown saint 
( A sonnet by Perdita ) 
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Has the oppressor yearning after a mysterious mountain hated their vicious ravings? 
Why indeed are helpless bombs as cruel as the healer..? 
The chaotic ravens resemble a spasm flowing from a familiar healer. 
For what reason are the fertile riches as indestructible as a teacher? 
Has the shaman trusted my stormclouds? 
Their stormclouds roam stretching beyond the cold hill above the pain. 
It seethes. 
The reptiles cry pointlessly. 
Their orgasmic sister drifts , the oppressor of woe cries. 
It forgets the cruel priestess! 
Have the knives healed soft enchantments..? 
My jewel drifts , yet still those misunderstood memories laugh silently. 
Their lonely mother opposes me. 
Laugh, endure dreaming of their mirage of vengeance! 
My rose of woe is as lush as their sister stretching beyond a magyckal mountain. 
Their wasteland extinguishes their poison, agonizingly!