Sunday, December 8, 2013

Drink Deep of the Nyr Dyv


Drink Deep of the Nyr Dyv

Sitting on the dock watching,
lake monsters being drug from the shallows,
and I can't help but wondering
if this is such a smart thing.

They say that the Nyr Dyv is bottomless,
that horrors from beyond time slumber there,
that a man's soul will never leave its depths.
And that only the Rhenee can survive
and we mean to test that,
but I'm not so sure
if this is such a smart thing.

The gulls are swooping low overhead,
ripping bits from the monstrous nightmare
that will haunt my dreams
for the rest of my days;
and I can hear the boatswain calling
but I'm not so sure
if this is such a smart thing.

The priest behind me is muttering,
and I can only imagine that
we're all going to die,
and that fat bastard isn't coming with us
so it's here that we get our last rights.
So I'm mounting the gang plank
and I can hear the veterans laughing,
playing grabass behind me,
they all seem assured.
But I'm not so sure
if this is such a smart thing.

The winds are picking up,
and we've been out here for two months
with nothing to catch but scurvy,
and that fool captain keeps watching his rum
while I'm watching the swells,
and seeing those monstrous forms
slipping about the ship,
dwarfing us at times,
but leaving us far behind,
as they race for those thunderous clouds,
and the captain's out of rum
so we're heading straight for them,
and the boatswain says it's a great idea,
but I'm not so sure
if this is such a smart thing

Damn that fool captain
and his mad crew!
We're in the stew now,
with the waves roiling about me,
the ship's being tossed like a child's toy
and I've turned white,
as the man to my left is lifted off the ship
by a tentacle as large as my home,
and they're screaming mad curses
at long forgotten gods,
hurling impotent spears
at a waking nightmare
from the depths,
and the captain is crying out
I'm not so sure
if this was such a smart thing.

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