Drinking the Cthulhade

Following a discussion of Cthulhu-flavored beverages over at Making Light, which spawned from some lovely Photoshop bits, I posted the following:

Drink not the liquor born of shadow fruit
If you yet value heart and soul and mind -
Those grapes were trodden by no human foot.

Too late, too late, to kill the cursed shoot
Already is the wholesome tree envined;
Drink not the liquor born of shadow fruit.

With notes of death and madness, blood and soot,
(Pray that it will only leave you blind)
Those grapes were trodden by no human foot.

A single drop sets madness in pursuit:
Dread, formless shapes loom behind.
Drink not the liquor born of shadow fruit.

And worse - within your dreams, some brute
Whispers secrets: a terrible blasphemous kind.
Those grapes were trodden by no human foot.

Though risen horrors render caution moot
--From deep R'lyeh will Dread Cthulhu climb--
Yet, drink no liquor born of shadow fruit;
Those grapes were trodden by no human foot!

Not my first foray into occasional poetry (that's poetry written for an occasion, not "sometimes I scribble"), but possibly the first I've shared. I'm rather fond of it, although I think the meter ought to devolve more in the final stanza.