Azathoth, or, The Blind Idiot Gods

A tribute poem to Howard Phillips Lovecraft

Can you hear the pipes, the pipes too shrill,
At the center of the void?
Where the Old Gods dance and, mindless, mill
In forms scarce humanoid?

Can you see through the gaseous, purple haze
That which they dance around?
That in their blind, moronic gaze,
The sovereign to which they're bound?

At the bubbling center of infinity,
Where the light rays go to die,
Chaos, the void, supreme nullity,
The daemon sultan on high.

He-who-cannot-be-named, the one
Who gnaws at creation's core.
Destroyer of all, creator of none,
The evil of ultimate lore.

Can you not hear the pipes?  Be thankful, then,
For your ignorance is bliss.
For the cosmos at best is indifferent to men,
And true knowledge is an abyss.

June 8, 2024