A motionless monolith hunting for victims
Pursuing their cries in the wind
A silent observer delighted by torment
Unveiling a shadowy grin
A master of anguish, enraptured by weeping,
Denying the warmth of the light
A searing foreshadow of primitive terror
In thrall to the grasp of the night.

A featureless landscape betraying no weakness
Begrudging no hope save a prayer
A coldhearted fortress entombing its captives
Enjoying their thoughts of despair
An ominous vanguard of biblical downpours
Erasing all substance from sight
A promise of thunder and scalding hot lightning
Impaling the cloak of the night.

A promise of sorrow
A promise of silence
As all is enshrouded in gloom
A promise of mystery
A promise of perils
That slay in the twilight of noon
A promise of stenches
A promise of rankness
Of waterlogged death on the ground
A promise of power
Returning to evil
As night draws the curtain on sound.

A menacing visage upon the horizon
Enclosing the earth in its frown
A limitless ocean of fathomless waters
Inviting unwary to drown
A sorcerer’s desperate final offensive
Defying his enemy’s might
A desolate harbinger dripping with portent
Foreboding the reign of the night.

A heartbreaking bastion of madness and darkness
Demanding man bend to its will
A merciless judgment of doom and destruction
Rejecting all else but the kill
A terrible glimpse to where emptiness lies
In the hell that we see in our fright
But our cries are unheard and our screams are in vain,
For we’re all in the grasp of the night.