GOTHYCK

Already redeemed 
( A sonnet by lonely1@wolfden.org ) 
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You disintegrate. 
In ancient times I was as vicious as a garden of contentment! 
Has a desolate thorn healed my fingers? 
It consumes the dream. 
Those razors tumble, soundlessly so soon... 
It accepts the mountain within the thorn, as pointlessly as my spasm of stillness. 
And why are the all-knowing razors terrifying? 
Their deadly feet seethe looming above their gothtastic storm. 
Those flowers slumber flowing from a rose dying beside a mysterious poison no longer. 
Their terrifying razors revere my city of abandonment, as violently as their temple of joy. 
My houses defy a poison of peacefulness no longer. 
The temple is torn apart. 
The mirage lurking under the lonely dust is looming above their sand. 
Those sensual riches defy their storm once. 
Did I still howl agonizingly far beyond the righteousness? 
Mourn at last.