(dedicated to James Ambuehl)

I saw where the house fell in the depression,
They say old Morrison went crazy there,
Screaming from the window in anguished despair,
As tendril-like fronds emerged from within.

Above the rank, black pit of debris and waste,
Where Yaggdytha once appeared in the sky,
I gathered up all my energy to cry,
And yelled the Green Incantation with haste.

Soft, rustling noises now begin to arise,
For out of the realms of Stygian fanes,
I make the sigil, the Pentacle of Planes,
Shielding me from deeds of Ei'lor's reprise.

"Arise Ei'lor! Awaken now from your sleep,
Afar from Kr'llard you shall proliferate,
As your demon star-seed begins to gestate,
Then to devour man as mindless sheep."

Dripping fronds with grasping suckers awaken,
With the movement of stingers in its lair,
An aroma of rancid death plagues the air,
Like the stench from some gigantic Kraken.

The world will know the horror of Ei'lor's wrath,
For soon its ravenous pods will disperse,
I offer my puny life not to reverse,
But to help Ei'lor on its evil path.

© 1998 James Gruetzmacher
First Appearance: Nightscapes #7

Return to Poetry Archive
Return to Innsmouth

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page