Hark to the rune of Pnom, Mage of past ages

Vanished in mists of dim antiquity,

Who, on his lost tome's dragon-vellum pages,

First chronicled how all things came to be:

How that mad AZATHOTH, vast Lord of All, 

Burst from the bonds of virtuality,

Causing the myriad motes ephemeral,

Unspaced, unformed and ante-temporal,

Unspaced, unformed and ante-temporal,

To fall from their sublime and rightful state

Into the durant Chaos that we know.

Thus Azathoth begat the expanding gulfs

Of sable spaces that enshroud the suns,

And, too, the motes which do those suns compose

And swirl to form the worlds innumerable

Whereon the simmering pits of life began

To foam, birthing all beings that breed and moil

In the unending stews of strife and pain.

Some chant to Azathoth their Litanies;

The Idiot Lord of All ignores their pleas.

 

Now, while this new-unbounded Universe

Sundered to clusters of vast starry swirls,

Each swirl a swarm of myriad suns,

The Idiot God, by likewise fissioning,

Dissolved into uncounted entities,

Each one a sole, supreme and sovereign Lord,

O'er one such cluster. That which rules our own

Is known as CXAXUKLUTH, the monstrous Thing

That spawns in plastic androgynity,

Gobbling its self birthed monstrous progeny

As much as it is able, though some few 

Win free to breed fell monsters of their own.

Some fools to Cxaxukluth presume to pray;

The Lord of Suns hears not the ass's bray.

 

Down from the swirling clouds of cosmic space

Settled the pulvous motes of latent life

Into the steaming seas of new-formed worlds

To stew and swell and hideously coalesce,

Thus monstrous UBBO-SATHLA came to be;

Spawning its efts in primal seas terrene

Empalled beneath volcano-blackened skies.

Then did begin the frightful upward climb

Of all the milling, warring forms of life

That swarm upon the dermis of this world;

While Ubbo-Sathla, shrunken now, lies hid

Within the deepest pits far underneath

The black eiglophian peaks, where still it breeds

And swallows its abominable spawn.

Men know it now as Abhoth the Unclean,

The pulsing remnants of terrestrial birth,

Who one day will, in dim futurity,

Expand and re-engulf its far-flung brood

In seas beneath the red and dying sun.

Some offer Ubbo-Sathla  prayer and praise;

The Source of Life pursues its mindless ways.

THE END