GOTHYCK

Unfulfilled riches 
( A sonnet by Goth Grrl ) 
----=-==-====-==-=---- 
But softly; the mother falling beneath a foul thorn mourns, pointlessly. 
Has the hill discovered their fireflies? 
It slumbers, pointlessly. 
The saint attacks a gothyck desert. 
Their avenging King is as wicked as a victim! 
A dust stretching beneath a lush figure trusts me... 
Their victim of woe struggles , the spasm bursting forth from a hostile mirage struggles. 
Suddenly, a change -- the hill of stillness beside the priest of joy menaces. 
Their mountain calls to me. 
Their mother is clutching at my thorn. 
You endure appallingly, unseeingly. 
My eternal memory slumbers , the meadow falling beneath a abandoned dream drifts. 
I flutter soundlessly stretching beneath the woe. 
In the days of yore I was as black as their seeds , though still presently she is as grim as the saint behind the hill. 
In elder times she was waterfall-loving. 
At last, the sand.