OUr Dreams Echo in
Lives of our children
“I, The Historian, of the Elohim, yet separate, bear witness to the unraveling tapestry of existence. Its once vibrant threads, meticulously spun by forgotten hands, are now frayed and stained by the crimson dawn of a new, horrifying era. The 10th Era of Men did not end with a whimper in the quiet corners of your burgeoning cities. No, it concluded with a colossal shriek, a final, discordant symphony of chaos that irrevocably reshaped the world of men, and even the very fabric of reality.” - The Historian, Things Not Meant To Be Seen
Poetry
“. . .I found my own true worth, not in a crowd or creed, but in the fertile soil of my own, planted seed.
I am but a flicker in the sun’s bright race, A single story passing in this short-lived time and space.
This is the house I built from my own stone, A flawed and sacred place I learned to call my own.
A man of conscience, who has found his way, And chooses to be born anew again each day. . .” Excerpt-This House I Built, The Heretical Blue
