Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici

A poem about truth

“Not many come this way”
Said the ancient undead face
“They are all afraid,” said I

The little boat rocked
And the dark waters splashed
And the mists of sick fumes
Crept closer

“And you are not?”
Said the bone and cloak guide
“Not at all,” I lied
“You are an artist, then”

And the dark waters became clear
And the mists became fragrance
And the cloaked guide fell to pieces
As I began to row

Grow

Maybe Later