Black Stain Against Time

My take on Lovecraft's "Nyarlathotep"

From the abyssal darkness
of twenty seven centuries
I have risen to reinstate
fearful mysteries and superstitions
now forgotten by man
so proud in his monumental
age of reason.
Deity shaken off,
embarrassing spiritual cloaks
thrown down, so man may bask
in logic's coldest light.

I have risen to ripen fruited time
in preparation for the Return.

Behold my form and tremble
with ancestral memories
of finest Egyptian bloodlines
reminiscent of pharaohs.
Sinister, blacker swarthy and slender,
a lean frame on which to convey
my plans, heavy with abhorrent,
ineffable purpose completely
foreign to the comprehension of man.

My very presence on this narrow plane
sends waves of discord
percolating into the dreams of all,
braiding tapestries of soul shuddering nightmare.
The most stalwart and sturdy-minded men
curled into fetal balls of blubbering denial.

In my cleverest of hands
I take up the first tentative technologies
of clamoring monkey man fumbling.
Taken up and trained for tainted purpose.
Prisms oddly angled refracting
photonic visions through phantasmal lenses.
Mechanical mysteries for the masses,
shuddering with the unshakable
truth of horrors beyond the mists.
Eldritch fields of power folding time,
scraping open keyholes into elsewhere.
Quavering voice strong against me,
complains of lesser physics employed,
smoke and mirrors.
"Since proof is desired,
I shall provide!"
Fingers trembling eager,
turning the key
tears open the veils,
two dimensions unzipping
along precisely metered angles.
The monkeys are swept dumbfounded
into an actual reality of their own hell.

The Will is done.
Terror once again reigns
in the souls of man.
I am the Will, the Hands, the chaos savaged Soul
of the Great Old Ones.
Know my name well
for I have brought these visions.
Let my name fall rancid across your tongues,

I am Nyarlathotep!