Free verse № 10135
Return to Kadath
The tarnished Key waits for one who will take it
and feel its heavy silver, cool in their hand.
The forest starves with ruby eyes and chattering calls
waiting for a traveler to drink its moon-tree's brew.
Pickman, the artist, has forgotten the look of a human face
as he gibbers to the ghouls in the tunnels.
The circling night-gaunts have long gone to roost
in some unknown mountain eyrie.
Leng is desolate, its houses are ruins, all the people gone
as if Sarnath's fate had visited the remote plateau.
From Kadath's peak, there is no sound,
no dreamer has dared to return.
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