by Nick Gisburne
Repulsive undulations, smooth and slick
Crescendo as the writhing nightmare nears
The deviance of every rhythmic click
Intensifies the fever of my fears
I dream my reckless probing had been curbed
But wishes will not fix a fool’s mistake
This ancient temple, hidden, undisturbed
Enticed me to a crypt, beneath the lake
Upon a heathen altar, black as jet
A sacrilege, a creature, cracked and dry
Perhaps it felt my heat, perhaps my sweat
I found the spark of evil in its eye
Bewildered, lost, my senses must submit
I know my fate, for I awakened it
