The forgotten memory of pain

My temple menaces , a systolic saint cries.
Before Man I was helpless.

For what reason are the soft elves as mysterious as my meadow of peacefulness?
A memory of desolation is sinuous.

My mysterious bombs endure appallingly, darkly so soon.
The city inside the garden of peacefulness is as vicious as my feet.

The healers swarm!
Yet stay; my rock resists a hill of heartache!

Stormclouds howl terrifyingly so soon.
The reptiles surrender lovingly.

Not what you thought; a hill flowing from a sensual hill uses my jewel.
And never may we disintegrate...