Lovecraft

Hope is a eldritch god slumbering in the depths.
When HE wakes, the world quivers in terror.
HIS red right hand bursts through the waves scattering fishermen like casino chips in a poker table.
When HE walks, the air tastes different, full of sweat-scented anticipation and freshly-laid heat.

Beware HIS last prophet proselytizing on a windswept shore.
The prophet speaks in tongues, screaming HIS unholy gospel to the roaring sea. The prophet’s damned prayers are buried by the moans of a thousand sacrifices as HE awakes.
The earth opens and its crevasses fill with unending rows of teeth.
The prophet stands alone, frozen in ecstasy as he is swallowed by his god.
Falling, the prophet screeches the last line of HIS gospel.

“When HOPE walks, the world shudders. When HOPE walks, beware the changes. When HOPE walks, all ends.”

The moon blackens. The stars begin to redden.
The sun spews purple flame, the last gasp of a dying universe.
His stone-slick hands move inward.
Galaxies swirl around HIM, shit swirling the drain.
All of existence compresses into HIS clenched fist.

Slowly, gently, his fingers unfurl.
At the center is a point, both infinitely dark and infinitely bright.
With a pop, HE falls back into a deep boundless slumber.
His tentacled mouth cracks into a satisfied smile.
The infinite point falls from his hands.
As it falls, Expansion.
Existence comes back.

For HIS first prophet in this new universe, HE leaves the new Gospel:
When HOPE walks, all ends, but something better begins.