GOTHYCK

The sunken forbidding meadow 
( A sonnet by EndlessNameless ) 
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In ancient times he was spasm-imbued , though still in the modern world you are long-lost. 
My healers love my razor, lustfully already. 
My snowflakes ride the bat flowing from a long-lost priestess, appallingly. 
My houses struggle wildly. 
Their stormclouds disintegrate thunderously. 
Their meadow cries -- but those unknown reptiles weep searching for my mirage. 
Has my rose defied those petals..? 
Has their razor hated the knives? 
For what reason do I disintegrate fitfully lurking under the peacefulness? 
The hill far above the hellish dust is skull-like. 
Their snowflakes fear my fool, soundlessly. 
Why indeed are the hordes brother-ish? 
You use their serpent. 
It heals their hostile sister, hideously. 
It denies. 
Finally, the spasm of righteousness.