The Gate Poem by Chris Noir

Born out of chaos, the chaos that sleeps,
Crept out of the Nameless Mists,
Spawn of void and boundless deeps,
Knows and sees all that can exist.

He knows, knows all he knows and sees,
He sees all and broods and waits,
He stands guard and holds the keys,
He knows the gate, he is the gate.

He's as great as space is vast.
By the unnameable's dreams he's brought,
The present, the future and the past,
All are one in Yog-Sototh.