Fenshaden Deeps

Tearing ground as though compelled by instinct
long is the far-seeing forgot
only decaying whispers,
trailing on foul earthen exhalation from below,
of the mind-miners, encased now in mortar.
Impervious not to the crawl of time...

Writhing worms, seekers scavenge a sunken sarcophagus.
Fragments found, unreadable in their forgone script.
Only those scrawlings,
whose shapes ring through the inner beast brain.
Sight of outlandish terrors,
forming cognate kinship in the innermind.

New words are spoken,
reanimated from silent stasis.
The Godbook thus writ,
we read the rites seeking commune.
Entwining in sacrament
interstitching limbs, adjoined as chimera
chants make incarnate the outerworldly reflection of our sin,
materializing in the murk
of the fendshaden deeps.