GOTHYCK

Unmade healers 
( A sonnet by pagan1234@hotmail.com ) 
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Suddenly, a change -- the mirage reveres the saint! 
But at the speed of a memory, my sister reveres the black rose. 
Stand cowering before their grass stretching beyond a cruel mountain, wander! 
But softly; a hill knows their mirage, vainly. 
Their cold people slumber! 
Fireflies drift, soundlessly so recently! 
My wet stormclouds endure. 
Primitive elves surrender pointlessly within the grief! 
Before Man they were bat-ish. 
In elder times he was redeemed. 
Their stupid wasteland is all-knowing! 
A mirage mourns -- but my wings seethe. 
Their sky forgets me... 
Has their waterfall dreaming of a gothtastic rose accepted their mountains? 
The priestess consumes me! 
Flutter , die , slumber lying upon my spasm...