Tale of the Asp

Burlap marinated in back water ponds, that's what the spirit of truth often dons always forever and mahogany strong... pillar of marble in cyclones of neglect hold tight to its wings,glide above feiry pits. Untruth, the drunk weaving down neon road a pair of vertical eyes, a million pot holes.. always the deciever, never yearns to give back so much fleeter than what you'd expect, fools fancy chasing the tail of the Asp. Truth, the cay of salvation circled by sharks lone firefly ripping the mask from the dark gilded loom of the humbled and homespun heart Untruth, supreme seductress of venomous ID whirlpool to water colored hearts and smiles living to brand death back into pure eyes.