Where the Moon Is Always Gibbous

Down a dusty, winding road,
Past houses old and crumbling,
Twilight sifting through the trees
And distant thunder grumbling.
My searches for some curious lore
Led me into the deep'ning night,
As the moon rose cold and gibbous,
And I feared the stars were right.

The chapel sat dark amidst the trees
Where music played wild and thin,
Lightning flicked across gables steep--
An empty door beckoned me in.
I felt strange forces gath'ring round
As I approached the eldritch site,
Where the moon was wan and gibbous,
And it seemed the stars were right.

The scent of mould and old decay
From the vacant door outbreathed,
On the steeple a faceless figure perched
In shadowy wings enwreathed.
What madness drove me onward--
Though my soul was thrilled with fright?
As the moon leered strange and gibbous,
And I knew the stars were right.

The book was there, as I had heard,
In the chancel old and bare.
Upon the lectern I found it--
As I breathed a whispered prayer;
In a forgotten tongue I heard myself
The ancient cant recite--
As the moon hung low and gibbous,
And the stars watched cold and bright.

The antique and brittle pages turned
Revealing dimensions unseen,
Where an ancient priest of age-old gods
Sleeps in bizarre aquatic demesne,
And dreams and waits 'til comes the time
His disciples fulfill the rite--
When the moon shrinks small and gibbous,
And the stars wheel all aright.

Still on I read, of the crawling
Chaos that looms anon,
Loosing blasphemies upon the earth
'Til peace and death are gone.
For in such times--when strangeness comes--
Ancient pow’rs are unpenned,
Dreams will turn to madness and
E'en death itself may end.

Darkened skies and thunderclouds
Along the horizon churn,
Somewhere a mad flute wildly plays
While civilizations burn;
This doomed and fated future world
Is revealed to my faltering sight--
Where the moon is always gibbous,
And the stars forever right.

© 2005 Alan Peschke

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