I wrote a quick poem to see if I can still horror goodly. You tell me what you think, dear readers, though I am expecting the rotted tomatoes in short order. In any case, this shall provide some surcease of the nigh endless stream of amazing funtime entries I've been writing about the awesome experiences you're not having.
The haggard souls all know this well,
In maddening, awful, frightening hells,
On sordid grounds stained with men's blood,
Neglected by figments far above.
But myriad still are things unseen,
Devils, they, with words unclean.
From across the Aether, a slithering voice,
Invades my mind, with tendrils moist
It calls from Ynith with tones of rock
To terrify and senses shock
And now, though late, awake a lie
I wish one thing before I die
And that is that these foul and awful beings
Should only free me from their wretched schemes.
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