The waning planet calls out,
Christening the rising moon that is now afresh.
A pale, distant Earth rotates downward,
Into oblivion above the dismal Lake Of Throth.
Nerve scorching lights descend upon scabrous plateaus,
As cyclopean burst of blinding sparks,
Create kaleidoscopic dreams of endless grandeur.
Silent figures glide across motionless space,
Viper-like, steadfast, pseudomorphic in their reign,
Miring lost souls torn from their useless plight,
Those who have succumbed to the sibilant hissing,
The pestifeous droning, of the servitors of Throk!
© Edward P. Berglund
"Moon Depths": © 1998 James Gruetzmacher. All rights reserved.
Graphic © 1998 Old Arkham Graphics Design. All rights reserved. Email to: Corey T. Whitworth.
Created: January 31, 1998; Updated: August 9, 2004