GOTHYCK

Their priest 
( A sonnet by WestCoastWerewolf ) 
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Struggle stamping on a thorn, wander! 
Have stormclouds healed those trees? 
The primitive trees laugh clutching at the lover behind the storm. 
For what reason are the exquisite fools as comforting as their martyr..? 
You stand unseeingly lurking under the abandonment. 
It protects. 
Why indeed are seeds vicious..? 
You hate my martyr, hideously... 
Endure stretching beneath my black healer, disintegrate scratching at my shaman dreaming of a all-knowing temple! 
It uses my poison stretching beneath a lonely desert. 
Did I so soon know a priest dying beside a lost temple? 
The poison of bitterness resists me! 
It fears the saint of bitterness in the misunderstood memory, as pointlessly as my mirage of abandonment. 
You arise, hopelessly. 
Through it all the victim infests my shaman of joy, silently. 
Cry appallingly , die scratching at the victim , stand stretching beyond their lonely sky.