Moon light,
black night;
The old-ones arrive soon.
Earth cracks,
man racks;
They appear upon his hearth.
Powers theirs,
man's tears;
Driven before them he cowers.
Time flows,
cycle close;
The earth stands silently sublime.
Sun shine,
all's fine;
For now we have won.
Copyright 1998 Boyd Pearson
First Appearance: The Innsmouth Archive
Return to Poetry Archive
Get your own Free Home Page