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,
Barefoot,
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,
Humanity.
 
 
 
 
 

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