Julia R


Patient, waiting.

Hiding more than it knows.

It has seen green forests in Oregon, and steely waves in Maine.

Purple moors in Ireland, and gold sands in Spain.

Though we all have many secrets embedded in our past.

Only the Keeper of Iron and Rubber will remember the journeys before its last.


Night and Day

Wrapped in a cloak of fading sky.

On an ocean of green, where the waves are pristine.

And the thin blades reveal where their secrets hide.


Untouched and unchanging, stays the silent, silvery night.

As its cold dark hands engulf the sun, and enslave its everlasting light.

So once more it begins, the ongoing war,

but to the Dark Eve’s surprise, the day will not be lured.


Though it no longer wraps the world in its warm golden arms,

the moon and the stars’ return causes no alarm.

For even if gray clouds twist the black world into mist,

the Sun will keep its ready blade at Evening’s darkened wrist.


So when the gray skies finally part, and the moon is at its peak,

Night will soon understand the difference between waiting, and being weak.

And he eventually realized that the battle had been won,

and once more became, a slave to the sun.



Broken sayings, stolen wishes.

Well-known secrets with hidden stitches.

Just as time can be wasted, neglected, and hastened.

Words can be twisted, hushed, and wasted.

The Infinite Stranger


He, unlike so many of them, uses his time for other things. Things unimportant to Man. The one who is always between here and there. Between near and far. Between friend, and foe. He is the infinite stranger. He is like time, just beyond your grasp, but never farther than that. He is the definition of vague. Watching, waiting, ready to disappear the second his entrance is noted . Always close enough to see, never far enough to leave behind. His presence can be sensed on a day like this. When the wind is just strong enough to trickle deja vu into the mind, to bring back forgotten memories, and twist untouched thoughts. When the clouds are thick and silent, as the rain holds its breath. You can feel his whisper on your neck, see his long tailcoat disappear around the block. Like sand slipping through your fingers.

So that is how he stayed —  permanently unfamiliar. Until she came, that is. And that was when infinite turned to fading, and sand turned to glass. When far and near drew so close together, their noses were almost touching. For even the coldest waters eventually wash on warm shores, even if they don’t stay for long.  



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