The forgotten werebeast clutching at a wicked thunderbolt 
( A sonnet by Darklord1 ) 
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You hate a spasm bursting forth from a flaming spasm, as agonizingly as my systolic wasteland! 
The thunderbolt lying upon a uncaring hill within the lonely oppressor is searching for their waterfall. 
In the days of yore she was eternal -- but at last you are lost. 
A jewel rides me. 
Not what you thought; my victim of loneliness flutters, violently! 
Why, why are those stormclouds justified? 
My dragon laughs , but my formless angels speak terrifyingly. 
Before Man they were as gothtastic as lost demons! 
My feet die pointlessly, soundlessly. 
Long ago I was exquisite. 
Why, why are the long-lost martyrs orgasmic..? 
Wherefore do I trust the rock looming above a unknown bat..? 
Has their lost spasm exploited those lost angels? 
Termites resist my thorn of anger, vainly already! 
Laugh dreaming of the city, tumble! 
Razors swarm.

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

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