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A Lovecraftian Plea

CthulhuI have worked with greatest diligence
To lead a life of great responsibility civic
Thirty years I have spent as a servant of the people
A responsibility to weighty as to be megalithic

I try very hard to do what is right and proper
I spend no idle hours at all
And I am yet left with this single damnable question:
Why won’t the Great Old Ones rise up and devour us all?

Thirty years of fiduciary care
Fifteen wearing the necklace mayoral
Forty years of sacred rites unholy
Worship furtive and bloody and eerily choral

And the impudent works of worthless Mankind
Utterly fail to fall into the seas
Rivers run mostly with water, seldom with blood
Despite my thoroughly heartfelt pleas

I’ve found no success as a servant
Of the gibbering mouth, the weird uncanny flute
And I must rely instead on human nature –
A barely adequate substitute

I follow in the sad footsteps of my father
A stern, cold, observant Puritan
Preaching by day, then trying every moonless night
To make the reign of the ancient ones secure again

He burnt so many witches he became emphasymic
His rasped dying words which assured my fate
So I hold intolerably long urban planning meetings
And design postal errors which make most mail late

And the impudent works…

Still, I hold this consolation
As I try to pull down the Age of Man
I have caused inordinate distress
Within a brief mortal span

I’m a warlock of paper,
An archfiend of crimson tape
I try to open up my heart a bit more each day
And let a little evil escape.

What do you think?

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