That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons even death may die.
May you hold your dreams
viciously still, and when the stars align,
arise like a heaving sea wave.
Hinder them, hobble them
twist them into the ground.
Mould them with the foulest of deeds,
and blow them away
into heaving waves of withered leaves.
In his house at R’lyeh
dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.