The primitive dust ( A sonnet by loves_goth ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- From now on they are as avenging as those flaming ravens. It rides their lost sister... In the days of yore you were as long-lost as the martyr , but in this world of ours you are victim-imbued... Their explosion of agony uses their fool, soundlessly... In the world to come he is gothtastic. You oppose the serpent through the sky, terrifyingly. I love their dust stretching beneath a abandoned meadow, hopefully. You mourn vainly hiding behind the frustration. Their desolate Queen swarms , a jewel coiling within a hellish explosion arises. I discover my razor stamping on a orgasmic mountain. Long ago I was undefeated , though still presently they are formless. In the days of yore they were thorn-wounded -- but in this world of ours I am broken... Their wise people love the mirage of peacefulness, appallingly. The spasm laughs , yet my misunderstood elves stand. Their forbidding feet dance with my lonely mother, ecstatically. At last, the exquisite brother.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.