That is not dead which can eternal lie
and with strange æons, Death itself may die.
–H.P. Lovecraft
If you found yourself in Cthulhu’s shopping mall, probably in the swim wear section, you might well hear this, playing over the speaker system.
Zero times hydra, to the power of existence, cubed, over the square root of straight jacket. Solve for Y.
This is “Beat” from my horror collection, Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity.
It’s been set to a beat, so that your strange æons might be somehow just a touch more symmetrical in nature.
The .mp3 file is attached, feel free to download it and share with anyone you like. Just click the DOWNLOAD button below, to play the track. Or hold the button down and select your SAVE option.
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Beat
Nameless, black
Void and choice-less
Surrendered to night,
Full of dark
Wanting nothing,
Now all is empty
Free to take up any chain
Any desire that one might wish for
No desire, no restriction
No thirst for servitude
There is only the vexing slumber
Hunger for the fat of a new kill
Is somehow become as a stranger
Wandering, wanton hex
A nubile delving into psionic prisms
Load the chamber
With hollow shells of the dead
Projected visions of delirium
Angelic chasms
Frightful clamoring in the cranium
Call back the dogs
And let them sleep
For the dawn will soon enough
Overtake their prey
That tender light, shredding matter
Rending garment and flesh
Quite succinctly
No need of drummers
To time the pulse of this tune
The rhythm of it,
A vacillating pendulum
Lo, it is even without the ability
To stray from its precision
The striker upon the cylinder
Is the pointing, bony finger of
The hand of Death, Herself
The hammer that clangs the bell
Is the Mother of Night, incarnate
The femurs of a thousand heroes
Beating against the tanned hides
Of the children of the same
Her crooked digit,
A culminating of perpetual cycle…
Stick meets skin, head warps and
Sound emanates through eternity
Stick meets skin, head warps and
Sound emanates through eternity
Stick meets skin, head warps and
Sound emanates through eternity
A beat all too well pounded into the
Collective memory
Burned into a hive mind
Fallen into cerebral pits of
“Never before”
We have at last, found the true past
It is even more horrid and shameful
Than we feared
It is full of monsters
It is full of us
Copyright 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell
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