An unfortunate soul, in madness screams
While confined behind asylum walls,
No respite from knowledge brought by dreams,
That come at night when the whipper-will calls.
What awful visions, what parting of vales,
Could sever the last thread of sanity?
From eyes perhaps came the dropping of scales,
Making mockery of man's vanity.

The once learned man now gibbers and moans,
"Burn that damned book!" he cries out in despair.
Evil ones older than the standing stones
Have a destiny for which they prepare.
"God please forgive me, this thing I have done,
Daring to read the Necronomicon."

© 1999 Ron Shiflet

First Appearance: The Netherreal

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