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Re: [Fantasy_Books] FABULOUS CTHULHU POEM!

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  • craig herbertson
    Cheerful stuff. Love it Craig Address: Alte Bahnhof Str 167, 44892 Bochum handi: 0177 474 5718 Fax: 0234 5414884craigherbertson.com          
    Message 1 of 2 , Dec 23, 2008
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      Cheerful stuff. Love it


      Craig

      Address: Alte Bahnhof Str 167, 44892 Bochum
      handi: 0177 474 5718 Fax: 0234 5414884craigherbertson.com           contact@...

      --- On Mon, 22/12/08, Amy Harlib <aharlib@...> wrote:
      From: Amy Harlib <aharlib@...>
      Subject: [Fantasy_Books] FABULOUS CTHULHU POEM!
      To: gavinicussbooks@yahoogroups.com
      Date: Monday, 22 December, 2008, 7:09 PM













      aharlib@earthlink. net



      The Love Song of A. Alhazred Azathoth by William Browning Spencer





      Let us go then, you and I,

      When the star-spawn wake and writhe

      Like nightgaunts drunk on blood;

      Let us go, beyond the nameless city,

      Streets drained of pity,

      Following Yog-Sothoth' s ancient journey.

      Oh, do not say, "No, never!"

      Else all your tentacles I'll sever.



      In the void the Azathi come and go

      Gibbering and all aglow.



      The black miasma that enfolds your carapace,

      The eldritch light that hisses in your carapace,

      Made darkness glitter like a feast of dreams

      And brought exalted madness to our schemes

      Until we lay enraptured, sated on dead things.



      Time there will be beyond Time,

      Time to read the Necronomicon at leisure,

      Time to devastate a race of heretics

      Or fashion some grand galactic seizure

      As a sign of our displeasure.



      In the void the Azathi come and go

      Gibbering and all aglow.



      And indeed there will be time

      To don my mottled coats of slime.

      And some will say, "His cilia have lost their shine."

      ["His spines," they'll say, "are thin and oscillate."]

      They'll think me old, but not an Elder, not a Great.

      Still there is time; it's not too late.



      For I have heard the worlds go dying,

      Heard Time itself unwinding, crying,

      And I have measured out my years

      In a bar in Sarnath, drinking beers.



      And I have known the eyes that skitter

      And I have watched the black hordes winter.

      Long before the Yith had bodies,

      I scavenged Chaos for my dinner.



      I should have been cold mandibles

      Scuttling across dead R'Lyeh's corpse

      Under the heavy, somnambulant sea.



      And would it have been worth it?

      Not to smite them with a blow but say,

      Instead, "You are mistaken. Love is all, yes, all."



      No, smiting is my heritage.

      I smite, therefore I am.

      Between the stars there is always

      Thunder without a mouth

      And wizen Death full of rage.



      I grow old...I grow old...

      I shall sheathe my ganglia in mold.



      Shall I wear my enemies on strings?

      I shall torture them and feed them fetid dreams.

      I have heard the hounds of Tindalos, howling as they run.



      I do not think they will howl for me.



      I have seen them rending the black moon,

      Shaking Chaos with their sharp teeth

      In Kara-Shehr amid the blighted ruins.



      We have drowsed in the blood-red desert

      Bound by implacable dreams,

      Caressed by Cythonian tongues,

      Till Cthulhu's cries wake us and we scream.



      ***



      Copyright (c) 2008 by William Browning Spencer. All rights reserved.



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