Chris and Rollo

Chris and Rollo

Saturday, April 17, 2010


My Lord, the words were hardly spoken,
Nearly never thought, so faint was my voice.
Mere curiosity, the utterance but token
Still shredded sanity, vanquished will and choice.

Abandoned me broken whilst those from beyond
Closed about; with unwelcomed love pressed
Themselves. I prayed - Be gone
But They, not You heard. Their caress

Grew warmer, greasier, from Hell
Their touch a loathsome, crawling clutch.
From within my skull the tales they'd tell
Were horrors no human thought could touch;

Of frozen plains and blackened suns,
Timeless abysses wherein dark souls gather
To worship with torn tongues the Old Ones
Who by their whim hold Hell together.

The Book, the damned old tome was written
Madly, and by madness rode the Days.
From ancient monsters' mouths the bitten,
Gnawed and twisted bones; the flesh flayed

Gleefully, the gluttonous soul carvers
Ate their fill through this their feeding universe,
Whilst remaining hidden from any further
Looking eye, but mine, unwitting, first

Caught a glimpse in those dark pages,
With a fanciful imagination cried Oh Great Dark Ones
And ignoring the warnings of prophets and sages
Recited, so softly, from dread Necronomicon

Whispered so lightly from hellish antiquity,
Gently, so absently coaxed from the pit,
The mindless, abominable, hell-spawn iniquity
From the cold sludge, a blind fit

Of wonton slaughter and sacrilege
Come to rest upon my back and tongue
To take for itself its granted privilege
And fury, now come to feast among

The innocents, whilst those who tampered
Pay up with dissected souls to serve
Their appetites, now fitfully whetted, unhampered
To run blood and souls together with demonic verve

© Celeste Plowden 2010

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