Home: Poetry: Ivy McKnight: The Medium
The twilight hour,
Of shadow Zen and,
A lost form of chaos,
In the black button stare,
Of a worn out doll.
Cast in a reflection,
Of The Last Unicorn and,
The moon on it's toes,
And to Urania a temple,
Of sand.
Here she will walk,
Her vapor-light eyes,
Will pierce the sun and,
Encompass the world.
She will touch,
A milestone in heaven,
She will run Hermes,
Into despair of,
The ground.
Brevity and mysticism,
With a box of crayons,
She will draw...
And show her mother,

All copyrights are acknowledged and those remain the property of the owners. Also these pages contain my opinions (unless otherwise specified), and thus, does not reflect the beliefs of others. The Garden of the Black Rose and its related pages are copyrighted (c)1998 by Ivy McKnight