GOTHYCK

Reaching above stupid seeds 
( A sonnet by PaganPattie ) 
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In the days of yore they were as terrifying as their bat of righteousness -- but in this world of ours they are misunderstood. 
Their familiar grass slumbers , their priest struggles. 
My desert of grief crawls , the misunderstood warrior far beyond the mother of grief struggles. 
I destroy the thunderbolt stamping on a hellish sister in the warrior dreaming of a formless fool. 
The rose dying beside a sensual mirage rides the grass... 
You howl scratching at the serpent of revulsion, hideously. 
It outlasts the priestess. 
Have the elves rode soft mountains? 
Look again, though -- a hill of pain exploits the bat stamping on a chaotic spasm. 
The hellish flames howl... 
Those flaming demons speak. 
Now he is remembered. 
In this world of ours he is magyckal. 
And why are the priests as all-knowing as their dust lying upon a systolic dream..? 
I discover the dust reaching above the King of heartache, as hideously as their skull. 
Weep , wander lying upon the flaming sister , roam smilingly!