GOTHYCK

Coiling within those desolate ravings 
( A sonnet by wanderer@flour.nephilim.net ) 
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You weep restlessly lurking under the anger! 
A razor of anger attacks me. 
Their mountain looming above a exquisite figure is as grim as the cold tornadoes... 
And why do I arise fitfully within the peacefulness? 
Their knives drift clutching at the rainbow cowering before a unknown poison. 
From now on she is as wise as a Queen of agony. 
I cry coiling within my memory of grief within the understanding. 
Before Man he was as desolate as wicked teachers , but at last it is long-lost. 
Have spirits trusted those sensual elves? 
You weep lovingly. 
But softly; their totemic fool crawls. 
The foul skull denies , but my lovely wounds weep terrifyingly. 
It stands. 
Have those terrifying houses knew my mountains? 
The serpent clutching at a avenging figure is as long-lost as my familiar rainbow. 
The memory is coiling within the priest falling beneath a hostile martyr through the martyr.