There is on top, the world,
A mountain tallest, red skied,
Black stoned fort, terrible cubed,
Wormholed deeply tunnels twist,
A yawning gap abyssal vast!
And in its bowelled grasp,
In ever darker damply maze,
In the endless pit,
It stirs wetly;
It shrieks! How it shrieks!
Another wet thump echoes,
Sliding along the nameless corridor,
Crawling, agonisingly into the light;
And the world cracks,
It's yolk red, like the skies,
And it shrieks,
Unto us all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
~A wonderful poem, Christoph. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for the kind words. I'd just read At The Mountains of Madness. Some of the imagery was fantastically twisted.