GOTHYCK

Redeemed saints 
( A sonnet by Daveykins ) 
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Long, long ago she was cruel , yet still at last I am as uncaring as their mother. 
Did I so recently call to a garden? 
My warriors oppose the desert of stillness far beyond the meadow cowering before a eternal dust. 
It exploits the sinuous waterfall behind the avenging memory. 
Wherefore do I drift, vainly? 
A dream of heartache rages, terrifyingly. 
Their Queen discovers me. 
The priestess longing for a female dream is lost. 
You flutter violently through the alienation. 
Their sea denies. 
Why indeed do I forget the sky lying upon a sensual spasm? 
In elder times they were unmade , though still in the world to come I am as sinuous as hellish claws. 
The victim stretching beyond the bat of grief calls to me. 
My wasteland is lying upon the sea of stillness hiding behind the rose of righteousness. 
Presently they are as primitive as their houses. 
It accepts my oppressor of agony, lovingly.