Down beneath the deepest vaults;
Down beneath forsaken wells;
There are places undiscovered;
Protected by unholy, ancient spells.
In a fever dream one winter night
I made the subterranean climb
To seek the old forgotten relics
Of a dreadful bygone time.
Down into the dark descending,
After hours lost in seas of black
I felt as if some hidden gulf was crossed
From which there was no turning back.
I emerged amidst an endless plain,
Covered with a strange, grey sand
As an evil star hung redly o’er me
And threw its vile tint upon the land.
I headed for the distant city
That on the far horizon loomed,
Whereat I knew the Ancient Things
Lay solemnly and silently entombed.
Once inside that twisted ruin
Through the winding streets I pressed.
Once or twice, a chill shot through me
When I thought I heard wings beating to the West.
At last I came upon a strange machine,
Designed to turn and twist the city’s gears,
All overrun with vines and fungal growths
Of unfathomably many years.
I sought a way beneath the site
To seek what had been built before,
When in my bed I suddenly awoke
And clutched a tome of ancient lore.
So much Lovecraft, so much Clark Ashton Smith. Consider this yet another of my “homage” poems.