Hack with axes
Brush and wattle,
Wreck the constructs
Of fellow men, who
You’ll offer in your stead
To that thing inside the
Vile expanse of fungal fog,
Add to those choked
Sacrifices to the spirits
Of the fen and bog.
By chants and dances,
Fixed in their forms
By your cursèd elders,
You seek as they
The blessings, boons
And gifts that’ll
Stretch the limits
Of thine eldritch lives
To the farthest focus
Of even the Norns’
Fiery occult eye.
Blasphemous hubris
Shall drive you to
Attempt to stop
Time’s omnipotent clock.
To strive you may,
Though vain your challenge,
To change or delay
The time preordained
For your exit
From the stage.
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