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