The Saturday Night Special: “Nemesis” by H.P. Lovecraft (1918)

H.P. Lovecraft, 1915

H.P. Lovecraft, 1915

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.

I had drifted o’er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
Of the hoary primoridal grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
Shows the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.

I have peered from the casements in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound.

I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear,
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.

I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

Top 10 Libraries in Fiction — At the BookShelf

The link below is to an article that takes a look at the top 10 libraries in fiction. Are there any that have been missed in your opinion? Should the library in the Sarah J. Maas ‘Throne of Glass’ series be included for example? Share your thoughts in the comments below. For more visit:https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/jul/31/top-10-libraries-in-fiction-jrr-tolkien-borges-game-of-thrones

via Top 10 Libraries in Fiction — At the BookShelf

HORROR SCRIPT MOVIE: Inked In Blood, by Paul Corricelli — Festival for HORROR

Synopsis: A tortured, tattooed man returns to the town he ran away from as a child to exact his revenge on all those who wronged him. Not only to mend the shattered pieces of his own life, but for his mother’s suffering as well, and ultimately face the one man he fears the most; his […]

via HORROR SCRIPT MOVIE: Inked In Blood, by Paul Corricelli — Festival for HORROR

The Characters I Write — Short Story Scribe

I write of the damaged and broken, because that is the norm. For each person who overcomes their demons, there are hundreds, if not thousands, who do not. It is their stories I tell. “Who am I?” I am an independent, self-published teller of tales, an author, as of yet, scarcely any renown. However, as […]

via The Characters I Write — Short Story Scribe