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!