Weak kneed they fall in their seats,
the tendrilled god rises.
Bright like starshine,
dark as the crushing void;
it is everything and nothing in concert.

From false fire it reaches out to them,
entombs them in eel like appendages;
not for wont,
there is no desire there,
impartially-
as a thresher to an arm amongst the wheat.

Such demeanor leaves them unafraid,
only-
awestruck by the breadth of its maw;
all those sharp teeth polished
reflecting back at them everything they want to see.
It is only its nature to eat,
theirs to be devoured;
taste nothing.