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There were legends of a hidden lake unglimpsed by mortal sight, in which dwelt a huge, formless white polypus thing with luminous eyes; and squatters whispered that bat-winged devils flew up out of caverns in inner earth to worship it at midnight

H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

This Unfading Season

Appalling growth, infectous;
Self-inflict, incestous.

But a cover is what's manifest—
Pestridden place, the lake at rest.

What amounts to treason,
Something that I know.
This unfading season
I know not where to go.

The depths are stirred: the the thing is near,
Through dustfilled archways echoes fear.

What amounts to treason,
Something that I know.
This unfading season
I know not where to go.

Half-real half-light fills this land,
A surface to await a striking hand?
Can one understand what hides inside
When one surely lacks the light that guides?

Appalling growth, infectuous;
Self-inflict, incestous.

What amounts to treason,
Something that I know.
This unfading season
I know not where to go.

What amounts to treason,
Something that I know.
This unfading season
I know not where to go.


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