deepundergroundpoetry.com
Nyarlathotep
That which has no face, no ears, no eyes,
Has no being, just pure disguise.
No identity, its counterfeit,
It has no form, but does exist.
Drawn from deep abyssal places,
The obscenity with a thousand faces,
A cosmic horror, a shambling mound,
Your ship of sanity, run aground,
The shapeshifter; in human form,
A facsimile of pure scorn,
Do not approach, suppress desire,
Do not engage, or draw it’s ire,
For if it’s attention you acquire,
Horrific fate, horrid, dire,
Infinity, your sanity bereft,
Incomprehensible, fate worse than death.
Published 12th Jul 2020
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The author encourages honest critique.
12th Jul 2020 11:54am
12th Jul 2020 9:23pm
13th Jul 2020 7:59am
I will accept your word on the matter. The machinations of the outer gods are inscrutable to me.
25th Dec 2020 00:34am
