Something for the weekend: NIGHT-GAUNTS By HP Lovecraft Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell, But every night I see the rubbery things, Black, horned, and slender, with membranous wings, They come in legions on the north winds swell With obscene clutch that titillates and stings, Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmares well. Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep, Heedless of all the cries I try to make, And down the nether pits to that foul lake Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep. But ho! If only they would make some sound, Or wear a face where faces should be found!
Posted on: Sat, 10 May 2014 08:31:09 +0000
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