Matt Lindley’s Azathoth
Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me,
Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,
'til neither time nor matter stretched before me,
But only Chaos, without form or place.
Here the vast Lord of All in darkness muttered
Things he had dreamed but could not understand,
While near him shapeless bat-things flopped and fluttered
In idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned.
They danced insanely to the high, thin whining
Of a cracked flute clutched in a monstrous paw,
Whence flow the aimless waves whose chance combining
Gives each frail cosmos its eternal law.
“I am His Messenger,” the daemon said,
As in contempt he struck his Master’s head.
**Quick note: a friend/follower observed that some new to Lovecraft might not be aware that he wrote poetry like this and that the way I structured the post might suggest the poem is by Lindley. So sorry! The stunning depiction of the old god at the top is Lindley’s; the beautifully grotesque poem is all HPL, all the way Down. Old news to many, but I thought it was worth an add-on just in case. (Click-into “Azathoth” in the title to travel to hplovecraft.com and read the whole collection.)
Stevan Aleksić, The Great Reaper (Veliki kosač) 1918