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Now I know the mysteries of the sea,
Tranquil emerald hues, emerald blues, enrapture me,
Forever embraced with the mermaid queen,
Now I know why the mariner nervously glances,
Why no one on Grand Isle will ever say he died.

For I too, will never die.

They say he never died!
In the night his spirit glides,
Through the cold the sea roars,
Pierre lives on forevermore.

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A Greek god horror story to kill all HOPE. Really dark stuff.

‘The old man continued on his way to the sea, coming after a time upon two men who were digging a grave for a third who lay dead.

“It is a holy office to bury the dead,” he remarked.

“Aye,” said one of the men, “especially if you have slain him yourself and are hiding the evidence.”
–ROGER ZELAZNY (But Not The Herald)

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hey were people of curious aspect, short and squat, high-cheekboned, with dingy yellow skin and long almond eyes; only in one or two of the younger men there was a suggestion of a wild, almost faunlike grace, as of creatures who always moved between the red fire and the green leaf. –Arthur Machen (The Turanians)

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‘The blackened face, the hideous form upon the bed, changing and melting before your eyes from woman to man, from man to beast, and from beast to worse than beast, all the strange horror that you witness, surprises me but little.’ –Arthur Machen (The Great God Pan–CHAPTER 8 The Fragments)

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“Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.”–Oscar Wilde (The Grave of Shelley)

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And as I writhe in my guilty agony, frantic to save the city whose peril every moment grows, and vainly striving to shake off this unnatural dream of a house of stone and brick south of a sinister swamp and a cemetery on a low hillock; the Pole Star, evil and monstrous, leers down from the black vault, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey.–H.P. Lovecraft (Polaris)

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