In tentacled dreams I flee the danger
That oozes through fissures in time and space,
I can trust no friend or unknown stranger
For who knows the evil behind a face?
The world is changing, a grand deception,
Disbelieved by men proclaimed as wise
Only those with uncanny perception
Can pierce the Old One's malignant disguise.
Gathering storm clouds, portending a doom
Are noticed by some, a handful at best.
I'm but a recluse, I hide in my room,
Needing to sleep but unable to rest.
Tentacled dreams sent by one 'neath the sea,
Have loosened my grip on sweet sanity.
© 1999 Ron Shiflet
First Appearance: NIghtscapes #10
Return to The Ron Shiflet Collection
Return to Poetry Archive
Return to Innsmouth
Get your own Free Home Page