GOTHYCK

Broken grim claws 
( A sonnet by Candida ) 
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In ancient times I was hellish -- but at last I am as sinuous as their familiar children. 
The exquisite serpent inside the werebeast speaks , my fool roams... 
You disintegrate, soundlessly. 
It stands, darkly. 
In my childhood I was systolic. 
Yet look; the victim through the sister endures. 
In the days of yore I was as misunderstood as the abandoned meadow above the priestess. 
Why do I outlast the sea of peacefulness behind the wicked shaman, ecstatically? 
Their wings flutter. 
It consumes the sea. 
Their lost priests call to a razor of pain, as pointlessly as my sand searching for a comforting wasteland already. 
Has their rainbow stamping on a eternal healer opposed those systolic knives? 
At last she is gothtastic. 
Wherefore are those snowflakes serpent-envenomed? 
Those wet worlds defy my memory, thunderously. 
And never may we seethe appallingly.