GOTHYCK

Unforgiven lovely people 
( A sonnet by Brad WyrdWulff ) 
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Has my serpent defied my razors..? 
Long ago you were unknown. 
Why indeed are their tornadoes remembered? 
The cruel bat mourns , my serpent protects... 
The hill lying upon a wicked martyr flutters -- but my unknown saints swarm. 
Wherefore do I plot clutching at the desert, thunderously? 
Wounds twirl... 
Why, why do I resemble my rose of vengeance? 
It swarms, wildly. 
In elder times I was as lost as their forbidding wolves. 
The razor loves the healer coiling within a authoritarian city. 
Before Man they were figure-envenomed , and yet from now on I am as long-lost as ravings. 
Their priest of abandonment extinguishes their sky... 
The dream of anger within the dream rides me! 
Those riches plot! 
In the world to come it is skull-loving...