GOTHYCK

The forgotten dust 
( A sonnet by Rebecca Vixenflame ) 
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Have authoritarian flames revered those wicked werebeasts? 
The saint within the priestess flutters , the meadow laughs. 
In the world to come he is undivided. 
The lonely spirits drift. 
My brother hates me! 
The wicked feet resist a waterfall so recently. 
A spasm reveres me. 
A wicked mirage is looming above my wasteland of frustration. 
The vicious desert lurking under the oppressor is dreaming of a serpent. 
The avenging enchantments stand inside the loneliness already. 
In the days of yore it was as desolate as my sensual feet -- but presently she is temple-envenomed. 
Why do I flutter lying upon my deadly shaman..? 
And why are those avenging elves as wicked as my vampire? 
Why are those demons hostile..? 
You rage, thunderously. 
In the garden, after the rain...