Poem of the Day/Week/Whenever

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In The City of Zalasaros

'Neath stormy skies ’n ghoul-spied passes, I sought my way to stumble-
‘Midst dark surrounds, a demon-cursed city, the structures all a-crumble;

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My machine failed sorely, leaving me stranded, ‘midst swooping desert dunes-
Whose musically shifting sands and weeds made cryptic, creepy tunes-

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With scorching days behind me, ’n taking ne’er walked desert trails-
If I’d only known that final horror t’ follow days of fearful travails;

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My eyes quite weary, my torch long dimmed, my senses numbed by fright;
With hours counting ’n days now numbered, a sallow radiance came to sight;

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What baleful gleam is this, I thought, what lantern-flame - or glow?
A torch, perhaps, or candle-fire, but knew only one way I might know;

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My grip I filled, from a desert tree, a hearty branch of wood-
And with said weapon I did battle, where THEY crawled ‘n writhed ‘n stood;

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For now I know what I did not before, that HE does indeed live and writhe-
That crab-clawed Zalasaros – that Feaster of Ten-million eyes;

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HE came to this plane, no man knows, in times long distant and past-
To blast men’s eyes ‘n carve out their souls, leaving their minds aghast;

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And how, says you, how did I, give the slip to that crab-clawed fiend-
It occurred, you see as, near a rail, in a tower of stone I leaned;

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The same broke forth, ‘n down I went, as head over heel I tumbled-
Somehow crossing distances vast till at last in San Juan I fumbled;

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The thing I mark, and on which I marvel, is Chicago is from hence I departed-
But two-thousand miles and two-hundred years is far from where I started;

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But no man crossed old Zalasaros and leaving went not unaffected-
I survived to tell the tale, you see, but there’s no one I know that’s not dead;

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My mind’s yet hale, or so I think, but these times are certainly strange-
And I miss the century in whence I was born, and from which I am now estranged;