Old One’s Gift

Death is the touched upon theme
for the raging sea that hides her screams
With blistering truths and scars aplenty
marching madness drums upon infinity

Old beings of cold scale and slimy hide
form a circle beneath the heavy tide
where Dagon dwells in dreaming decadence
and souls are torn for lack of pennance

Hell is not other people anymore
it is the brink on which sits the shore
where the singing, tentacled visage stirs
whirling dervish, his and hers

Sifting through the rubble old
cold bone and stone and abalone
we conquer and are conquered
by those Old Ones\’ gift,
through the sand of our bones they sift

The ending to a tale is told
the aeons delete themselves and unfold
Anew is the horror
for a generation of silence
climbing the crags
we sit in stoney reverance

Handed fates from mouth to mouth
it goes on its way
forever slimy and south
No exit for the masses
and the flowers drown
beneath stars that resemble a
kingless crown…

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