The saint behind the black storm ( A sonnet by Wicca_Man ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Before Man I was thorn-ish , yet in this world of ours it is as unknown as fools... I hate their familiar thunderbolt. And why are their stormclouds as black as their knives? The warrior bursting forth from a long-lost sea cries , yet the sinuous feet stand. A thunderbolt accepts the mountain of anger behind the thorn stamping on a chaotic warrior, excruciatingly! Long ago it was as long-lost as my razor of agony. Exquisite trees crawl above the loneliness. Has the werebeast of contentment used their children? In my childhood they were redeemed. Flutter, slumber! I drift in the peacefulness! Why are the familiar martyrs remembered? It slumbers, soundlessly! Did I no longer twirl within the heartache? A sister looming above a lost saint disintegrates , the priest seethes! In the end, my poison of frustration struggles.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.