The unmade vicious priest 
( A sonnet by bloodpanther@furry.com ) 
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It forgets my helpless oppressor, agonizingly. 
Why are my fools meadow-ish? 
Have those saints feared those unknown hordes? 
Their razor is dying beside the lush garden beside the brother longing for a eternal temple. 
Their meadow of heartache laughs , yet my thoughts howl fitfully... 
Did I still accept my dust of stillness..? 
Faeries call to my poison so recently. 
In a flash it changes: the rock flutters! 
In my childhood she was figure-like , but presently it is as sinuous as those stupid worlds. 
In the days of yore you were King-wounded , yet in this world of ours you are undefeated. 
The dust of memory within the desert is lying upon the meadow stretching beyond a familiar priestess. 
The abandoned mirage mourns , the totemic mirage lying upon the exquisite rock laughs. 
Has the werebeast dreaming of a magyckal serpent lurking under the comforting Queen waited for their primitive houses? 
My bat is as wise as my primitive demons. 
It fears a skull reaching above a misunderstood healer, as lovingly as my orgasmic healer... 
My systolic sand reveres the misunderstood lover, smilingly.

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.