We only mock the things we love.
My only regret
When the stars are right
He who must not be named will return
And great will be the lamentation therefrom.
A certain star, 1,000,000,000 light years from Earth
Will have reached the position from which
Its baleful radiance gleamed
One billion years ago.
He who waits dead, or a semblance thereof
Shall arise and drive men (and some women) mad.
Other stars, roughly 17,000,000 light years from Earth
Will have reached their fateful positions etc.
Roughly 17 million years ago
But not at exactly the same time.
She of the myriad Young
Will at last turn them loose to devour the populace
Beginning with the inhabitants of
Rural New England.
Yet another star, a mere 57 light years from Earth
Will have reached a position from which
Havoc may be wrecked
Just three years before my birth.
It of the multitudinous pustules
Each of which...
This is even more confusing than General Relativity
And there are not even any equations
That most of us can't understand.
We'll know when the stars are right
We'll know when our time is done
Or if we don't
Someone will tell us
A tendril will tap us on the shoulder
And in a sepulchral voice
Someone will say
"Yo! Humans, you're out!"
Or words to that effect.