Quo Vadis.
When the apparition came to form
It did so without any warning,
Quickly, queerly moulding the cloth,
Hovering with a great grotesque gait,
Snuffing the candlelight of the room,
Before slowly, shedding its dissonance,
Taking on a form, closest to man.
And so the Friar spoke to the figure,
In the old languages and the new,
Stammering, blubbering like a babe,
His hands cold against the old stone,
Blood trickling from an unseen cut,
Deep within the chipped, cracked rock.
Domine, Quo Vadis? Amicum, Quo Vadis?
Domine, Quo Vadis? Amicum, Quo Vadis?
Mu m’ort’e azhke’t kha Xa’zgh? Æ’Xa’zgh?
Mu m’ort’e azhke’t kha Xa’zgh? Æ’Xa’zgh?