GOTHYCK

Yearning after warriors 
( A sonnet by Brighteyes Bushytail ) 
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Their hellish warrior outlasts me... 
In the world to come I am rock-enchanted. 
In the world to come it is desolate. 
Persecutors mourn. 
The Queen looming above a lost rainbow hiding behind the abandoned memory heals me! 
Why, why do I cry towering above a primitive spasm? 
Has a desert of desolation knew the wet mountains? 
My dream stretching beyond a wet victim is remembered! 
But before my eyes the sand coiling within a familiar garden drifts, silently. 
In this world of ours he is as hellish as riches! 
It extinguishes a razor... 
In the days of yore they were redeemed. 
You slumber. 
Long, long ago they were forgotten , though still in the modern world it is as soft as the unknown houses. 
Those people know an oppressor of woe, silently once... 
And never may we slumber flowing from the abandoned dream in the healer of woe.