The ancient wanderers explored
The darkness and its depths, light-abhorred
Subterranean deeps of the soul;
With ancient drums and drugs the bowl
Of black oak-water was passed,
Loosing the senses to the shadows of the past.
Darkness ascending to the realms of Men,
Burning, destroying, consuming from within;
All roads through Broceliande lead
To the dark antipodean wastes, where bleeds
The black bile of the Headless Emporer’s wastes,
And inhuman shapes shift and sway with deplorable tastes.
Without measure, without time,
All thoughts forever in rhyme–
Images set free from Verse…
The Acts in Contention spread all over the Earth;
Actions of the Headless Emperor, walking ever-backwards,
Rolling and boiling in all passions, downwards
It spirals in flames of madness, mountainous and cruel–
The Pit yawns, the Abyss smiles, and all such explorers are Doom’s tools
And Fate’s curious fools.