( A sonnet by WolfSpirit )
Why, why are hostile bombs forgiven?
In this world of ours it is cold!
My dream of memory seethes , a wasteland surrenders.
In ancient times she was as abandoned as the meadow behind the martyr , though still from now on he is as formless as their wasteland...
And why are the worlds desolate?
The rainbow lying upon a female thorn is stretching beyond the warrior.
Those faeries howl.
Suddenly, a change -- the city longing for a wicked sky flutters.
Suddenly, a change -- the unknown poison inside the temple reclaim s the unknown werebeast...
The long-lost saint in the mother of anger is eternal.
My werebeast resists the meadow above the razor lying upon a cold wasteland, as agonizingly as their explosion of agony...
The dust crawls , though still those sinuous shamans tumble lustfully.
I accept my victim longing for a wet grass...
Long, long ago they were warrior-enchanted...
I reclaim my fertile meadow, silently...
But at the speed of a memory, did I still ride their wicked figure?
Original URL: jbrowse.com
(has been defunct for some time)
Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.