Ice Jesters of the Anti-Moon
I
As I walked through a pallid grove at night,
Past trees the chalken moon did spread its glow;
’Tween fulvous cedars something seemed to shew:
Intruder moon crawled from our own moon’s light.
Now miles apart in my own view it shook:
This second moon ’came coloured as the grave
And birthed new sky ’round sable architrave;
Shadows grew gaunt upon the woodland brook.
Had mirage or daydream entranced my mind—
No hashish daze could bring such sights abound,
To create a twinnèd mantle of rays
One half stars, the other colours that bind.
I could not fathom that unearthly sound;
The colours changed ’fore my confounded gaze.
II
Then, from behind the cursèd satellite
A sheen of zymotic shades did gather;
In their wake came forms of lunar lather:
Born of anti-moon, they grinned in cruel might—
White, skel’tal ice-clowns hung from above
And stared down at the earth in base hunger:
Their crude claws of basalt were no younger
Than the earth that upon we lived and loved;
I saw our fate was clear, an ancient feast
For grinning idiot monstrosities—
Aberrant jesters of the anti-moon,
Primal gods insane as daemonic beasts.
I kneeled before solar atrocity,
Doomed under the glare of imposter lune.
III
What fate was this — to die alone in fright,
Whilst all my loved ones gathered together
Staring high at stars, not knowing whether
They were prey to dreams, or to die that night.
These wicked comics knew not what they took—
Without absolution, resolution,
At beast-jesters I screamed retribution;
But still with rude, rabid hunger they shook;
Still their stretchèd masques stared down, reveling
In pungent fear our species did exude:
Their cosmic cackles then filled the night air,
Echoing through atmosphere, levelling
All man’s cities; so numb was my mind’s mood—
In death, I could only think it unfair.
Jormunghast 