Dark Aeons

by Z. M. Wilmot

Foul ichor drips from its long silver tongue

  As it whispers him promises and beckons him come

  The Elder kneels down and remains in one place

  Not daring to look at the thing in its face

  Mad eyes glow red as they wither and age

  And twin tails of snakes lash the air in a rage

  Then the hound’s many legs step forward as one

  As foul wriggling things chant that his will be done

  The hound speaks then with one final demand

  And the Elder's head shakes with a quivering hand

  And there comes then a slithering, shuddering sound

  And the Elder is nowhere ever after to be found

  And under the light of the sun’s shaded twin

  The hills at the heart of midnight grow dim

  And as the glorious sun rises high in the sky

  It finds only a lantern, damp hat and a sigh.