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Description
this is page 1 to a story poem i wrote and illustrated did in 2002
here is the text that is on all the illustrated pages.

mutato nomine de te fabula narratu

Let me begin this tale.
A tale as old as time.
A tale I have never told.
A tale I have only whispered in the darkness of night.
A tale of living in the past as if it were the present.

Begun, on a day, Today.
Begun, on the mind of a simple man.
Begun on the mind of few cares
Begun on the road less traveled

This, a road that I have traveled many times.
But this time I felt uneasy.
For
A fog, of depth was fast approaching.
A fog, that ingested and digested everything.
The fog brought forth with it a form.
I could scarcely see anything except for a form off in the distance.
Is it a man?
Is it a woman?
It is an eerily familiar form.

I called to the form, in the essence of hello.
No reply, the figure stands unabated unaffected by my call.
The figure stands as I approach, but to this I see the fog is thickening.
I call a second call with a hesitation.
Still no answer.
Still motionless, not a budge or hint of acknowledgment.
Is this concern that I feel for this nameless person?
Is this concern I feel for myself?
Faster and faster I walk, faster and faster I run towards the form.
But it seems that no distance has been made.
Is this a dream?
Is this consciousness?
Now exhausted I fell to my knees.
Do I want to know why this is happening?
Do I want to know who this form is in front of me?
Now I am motionless
I want to know, I cry out to the figure for a final bout.
“Why must you torture?”
“Why must you flee?”
“Why must you not know me?”
And again nothing.
So I rested my head on the cold hard ground.

I glanced up off the ground.
The final climax of the fog has passed and is now dissipating.
With a second glance,
The figure grow, was an inch now a foot.
The figure grow, was a foot now a yard.
The yard of the unknown.
Is it coming to answer my call?
A notion of what is to come, the elation.
The figure is closer then ever before.
But now it has come out of the fog.
With a long black essence but still I can not see its face.
But a strangely familiar pungent odor has followed this form.
Now uneasy.
What does this form want?
With one arm raised toward me.
The smell had welled tears in my eyes.
The smell, known to all.
The smell of death.
Is this the figure I have been longing for?
Is this, the form, the figure of death?
Is this, the form, the epitome of evil?
“What do you want from me?”
[ It is time. ]
"It is no time.”
[ I have come. ]
"I have life.”
[ You have death. ]
‘You have mistaken.”
But before he could come upon me I raised to my feet and ran, but the fatigue has done its toll.
Mustering all the life left in me I ran, but he was still there.
Coming closer and closer there was no escape.
I turned and charged at this inpatient death.
And laid a valiant siege upon him.
And then the form fell
Fell to the ground

The fallen death
An unsheathed face.
An unheeded death
The face of death was shown.
And now I could see the face.
It was not vile.
It was no creature.
It was a face.
It was a mirror of mine
But it was lifeless.
It was dead.

I fell to the ground in disbelief.
What is this?
Is this true?
Is this the true face of death?
I grabbed my head for I had become overwhelmed at what had transpired.
But what is this wetness that I felt on my hand.
It is blood.
Blood on my hand, oh positive, the wound was deep.
Oh positive, the wound was fatal.

I lie down.
I lie my back on the road.
This road that I thought I had traveled, but to my remorse I could only travel this road once.
Staring into the sky
I turned to death
Knowing death can not be cheated everyone will be no more.
But with this sediment, death turned in my direction.
He stood up looking down at me with a tear in his eye.
for me.
for what he had to do.
With this he covered his face.
The care of a hood, hiding the pain that has plagued him.
A passive turn he walked the road the road he must travel

An unknown perception of people surround to me.
These the nameless,
These the faceless, people of my life.
A perception of my life
A perception of my memories
Memories of the man I had become
I had lived.
I had died.
The passage was unsafe in this a distilled world as I go as dust in this world.

Latin: mutato nomine de te fabula narratu
English: with the name changed the story applies to you.

Description
this is page 1 to a story poem i wrote and illustrated did in 2002
here is the text that is on all the illustrated pages.

mutato nomine de te fabula narratu

Let me begin this tale.
A tale as old as time.
A tale I have never told.
A tale I have only whispered in the darkness of night.
A tale of living in the past as if it were the present.

Begun, on a day, Today.
Begun, on the mind of a simple man.
Begun on the mind of few cares
Begun on the road less traveled

This, a road that I have traveled many times.
But this time I felt uneasy.
For
A fog, of depth was fast approaching.
A fog, that ingested and digested everything.
The fog brought forth with it a form.
I could scarcely see anything except for a form off in the distance.
Is it a man?
Is it a woman?
It is an eerily familiar form.

I called to the form, in the essence of hello.
No reply, the figure stands unabated unaffected by my call.
The figure stands as I approach, but to this I see the fog is thickening.
I call a second call with a hesitation.
Still no answer.
Still motionless, not a budge or hint of acknowledgment.
Is this concern that I feel for this nameless person?
Is this concern I feel for myself?
Faster and faster I walk, faster and faster I run towards the form.
But it seems that no distance has been made.
Is this a dream?
Is this consciousness?
Now exhausted I fell to my knees.
Do I want to know why this is happening?
Do I want to know who this form is in front of me?
Now I am motionless
I want to know, I cry out to the figure for a final bout.
“Why must you torture?”
“Why must you flee?”
“Why must you not know me?”
And again nothing.
So I rested my head on the cold hard ground.

I glanced up off the ground.
The final climax of the fog has passed and is now dissipating.
With a second glance,
The figure grow, was an inch now a foot.
The figure grow, was a foot now a yard.
The yard of the unknown.
Is it coming to answer my call?
A notion of what is to come, the elation.
The figure is closer then ever before.
But now it has come out of the fog.
With a long black essence but still I can not see its face.
But a strangely familiar pungent odor has followed this form.
Now uneasy.
What does this form want?
With one arm raised toward me.
The smell had welled tears in my eyes.
The smell, known to all.
The smell of death.
Is this the figure I have been longing for?
Is this, the form, the figure of death?
Is this, the form, the epitome of evil?
“What do you want from me?”
[ It is time. ]
"It is no time.”
[ I have come. ]
"I have life.”
[ You have death. ]
‘You have mistaken.”
But before he could come upon me I raised to my feet and ran, but the fatigue has done its toll.
Mustering all the life left in me I ran, but he was still there.
Coming closer and closer there was no escape.
I turned and charged at this inpatient death.
And laid a valiant siege upon him.
And then the form fell
Fell to the ground

The fallen death
An unsheathed face.
An unheeded death
The face of death was shown.
And now I could see the face.
It was not vile.
It was no creature.
It was a face.
It was a mirror of mine
But it was lifeless.
It was dead.

I fell to the ground in disbelief.
What is this?
Is this true?
Is this the true face of death?
I grabbed my head for I had become overwhelmed at what had transpired.
But what is this wetness that I felt on my hand.
It is blood.
Blood on my hand, oh positive, the wound was deep.
Oh positive, the wound was fatal.

I lie down.
I lie my back on the road.
This road that I thought I had traveled, but to my remorse I could only travel this road once.
Staring into the sky
I turned to death
Knowing death can not be cheated everyone will be no more.
But with this sediment, death turned in my direction.
He stood up looking down at me with a tear in his eye.
for me.
for what he had to do.
With this he covered his face.
The care of a hood, hiding the pain that has plagued him.
A passive turn he walked the road the road he must travel

An unknown perception of people surround to me.
These the nameless,
These the faceless, people of my life.
A perception of my life
A perception of my memories
Memories of the man I had become
I had lived.
I had died.
The passage was unsafe in this a distilled world as I go as dust in this world.

Latin: mutato nomine de te fabula narratu
English: with the name changed the story applies to you.