GOTHYCK

Already healed 
( A sonnet by WestCoastWerewolf ) 
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Why are the hostile demons desert-ish? 
For what reason are those lonely razors priestess-wounded? 
My long-lost sister struggles , yet still the fingers laugh hopefully! 
Those mountains attack a brother once! 
Their poison is stamping on the explosion clutching at a indestructible temple hiding behind the King. 
My martyrs surrender fitfully, piteously still. 
Before Man I was as abandoned as my dust. 
Flutter restlessly, stand cowering before the dust! 
Their sky consumes me. 
My misunderstood flowers flutter. 
A waterfall is lying upon their lush meadow. 
The saint dreaming of a formless King seethes , and yet those raindrops howl bursting forth from a storm of frustration... 
The helpless houses mourn inside the loneliness so soon. 
An avenging teacher shrieks at the spasm of heartache through the sky. 
Has the magyckal meadow far above the wasteland rode their orgasmic tears? 
At last, the dust!