In Praise of Cthulhu

Hail to the R'lyeh dominance sleeping beneath the
 Pacific waves of salt.
 Master of the Great Old Ones resting patiently for the
 days of global territorial reclamation, fulfilling the
 legacies of all the world's forbidden manuscripts.
 One day he will come as the Armageddon Angel leaving
 in his wake the sunken ancient continent and the black
 city's towers pointing towards his birthplace Vhoorl;
 the Cthulhi spawn flying out with the monsoon winds
 spreading their terror over the lands of man,
 slaughtering all which lacks the divine blood.
 Telepathically I link into the cryogenic glacial
 substance beneath the planets floating salt and
 descend into the being's hostile dreamland, the
 Chorazin outskirts, where I am considered an interim
 temporal occupant with exceptional privileges and
 unmatched skills.
 Beings except me as their master obeying their
 creator, but descended from another branch of gods;
 admiring me with a sharpened edge of jealousy.
 Cults follow my path, while others burst down in
 litany.
 I am their alien messiah, hated and adored.
 Ashen gravel whirls around under my feet, as I fly
 myself towards the liquid pantheon, centered in the
 forbidden sector of the extensive Cthulhu id.
 A transparent shape, pulsating at the rhythm of the
 synaps, rises in the land where dawn and dusk are
 one.
 My followers have stopped along the way, afraid of the
 destruction that awaits them in this region.
 But my soul has reached the temple and my hands have
 touched the membrane of the sphere.
 And I step in.
 The Chorazinworld now savagely distorted, by the
 treacly substance that eddied around my skin, but
 never touched it.
 I know where I am, though it's all unknown to me.
 I know now what to do, and I render the awakening.
 In praise of Cthulu, the gatekeeper is here! And I cut
 the astral cord, embedded in the awakening God, and
 rose above the surface of the dark Pacific Ocean.
 R'lyeh has returned!