A series of prose and poems written by me with little cohesion betwixt them all

Visions of Prosetry - Collector's Edition is a masterful blend of prose, poetry, and short stories, seamlessly combining suspense, romance, and fantasy. This unique collection bridges truth and fiction, bringing characters and themes to life with vivid storytelling. Each piece reflects personal and universal experiences, offering a rich exploration of culture, emotion, and creativity. Perfect for readers who enjoy a mix of drama, thrill, and deep introspection, this edition also connects with the author's other work, Dark Haze - The Island, adding layers of intrigue and continuity. As a bonus, this edition includes previews of upcoming works such as…

The late morning light of an early summer sun dances on the ripples of a small, cool stream where it flows lazily from the mouth of a low mountain cave; glimmering and glinting off of roots and stone and dew within, and little fish, and wet moss, and myriad small, colorful pebbles that made up the stream’s bed, it bounces off the verdant, deep greens outside, casting the hues of life and fertility into the darkness to harmonize with the soft burble of water finding its way along in search of the sea. Carried within the cool, clear channel, a deep ruby stream of life flows from a large form within, its glistening black scales yet rising and falling. _O mountain,_ the wind cries, _hold dear our child. Keep final watch over her who split her life between your shadow and my embrace, who loved us both in all the moods she knew us. Hold her gently within yourself as she grows still and cool, and returns her love to the world.___ The mountain says nothing, but softly weeps. It has seen a thousand thousand ages. _O earth,_ the wind cries, _Take her love home into you. Her essence, muscle, body and scale alike, the sails of her wings, her organs, and the life she carries within, these she returns to you, to the land, to the smaller creatures, the fish, and the flowers. Even the tiniest creatures of all shall come to her, to thank her, to return her to sweet loam, the earth from which she is made. Love her._ And the earth is silent, or as silent as the earth can be. _O time,_ the wind cries, _to you she leaves her bones, made of the collected life, love and energy of so many other lives, a fleeting monument to show that she lived and stirred, and grew from nothing to become something. Her claws and teeth will stand for her ferocity; her long spine, her strength._ _But,_ the water burbles, _what of the wisdom that yet shines in her eyes? Of her flame, that warms me yet, found of the spark that came before her form to imbue her with consciousness from her first divine breath? Will they snap out of existence? Will consciousness decay with a dying mind, ending in nothingness as it began?___ _This, I will carry_ , an unknown voice whispers, the gentle touch of eternity, _as the wind sings her song, as the earth dances to her return, as the water delivers her essence to the sea, as time flows on inexorable._ _Return to my embrace_ , _for you are beloved.___

Sci-Fi Blog, original writing, multi-verse, at the edge of the apocalypse. One failure taking responsibility for endless iterations of himself. %