There are things out there,
Things older than Father Time,
Heretical creatures of eyes and tentacles,
Multitudes of alien flesh,
Designs impossible in nature,
Rejected by sunlight,
They regard the world as fodder,
To look upon them is to witness insanity manifest,
To combat them madness itself,
Simply ask the husks of their victims,
We’ve been told,
If it bleeds we can kill it,
But what if it doesn’t bleed?
What if it is of the stars?
An abomination of a god.
The day finds its demise,
Tossing and turning,
My rest is interrupted by eldritch fingers,
Emanating a foul energy,
Tentacles in my mind,
I dream of fathoms deep,
To airless environs,
Where even fish dare not venture,
Waters claimed by spectres and arcane chants,
Where the sun and sanity both drown,
Something stirs,
Eyeing the surface with a million oculi,
A million definitions of mad hunger,
Watching a world it seeks to extinguish,
A million maws curling into grins.
Do you hear the chanting?
Esoteric words upon piscine lips,
Hymns out to sea,
A burg willfully forgotten by humanity,
A fishermans haven turned nightmare,
Towers held aloft by stone tentacles,
This decrepit ruin of a town contains a dark secret,
Even the moon looks away in fear,
Prayers made amidst undertow and rock pools,
Bubbles and salty mist rise up in chorus,
A cacophony of groans and briny gargles,
Praise to a god not dead but sleeping,
At once the chanting dies away,
A dire shape appears under the waves,
A hunger unknowable,
An apocalypse summoned,
Dagon.
This book,
This necronomicon,
A manual of madness,
The book is a key of sorts,
To the weird,
To the insane,
To the eyes beyond the stars,
The voices in the dark,
The old ones,
Each passage is a sermon,
The names within call to you,
Tentacles writhe excitedly among the pages,
They see into you,
They reach across the cosmos,
They’re coming.
They are coming,
Darkness is looming,
Peril is converging,
Fear is rising,
Despair is flourishing,
Madness is burgeoning,
They are coming.
They are here,
Defenses are crumbling,
Armies are routing,
Cities are smouldering,
Nooses are swinging,
Corpses are rotting,
They are here.
They have won,
Civilization is lost,
Hope is deceased,
Maws are chomping,
Tentacles are writhing,
Oculi are glaring,
They have won.
The Old Gods are attendant.
WorldofHarley 