Bloodied chrysanthemums envelop

The blurred lines of the paint-strewn floor

Casting shadows in the midst

Of broken light, fragmented scenes

Memories unended, just started

The gleaming red exit sign

In the back

Hurts my eyes; I was told

That the church was a safe place

Somehow, it makes me feel


Conjoined benches

Of wispy outlines, ghosts whose

Hourglasses broke too early

Used to hold gold, left dust
In their goodbyes

Silence pursues

Every so often disrupted

By whispers of white lies

That reflect off the silk-covered altar

Losing their voice

To the slightest breath of wind

I once saw a garden outside the bounds

Of these wood-shaven walls

Ruby-dipped roses

Once I turned my head

They were gone

Maybe I hold on to things

That aren’t meant for me

Hannah Zhang

Hannah Zhang is a 16-year-old aspiring writer from Tucson, Arizona. She enjoys reading all kinds of novels, leaning towards adventure and fantasy. Inspired by the beauty of nature, she frequently incorporates it into her stories and poems. She has been writing since a young age and sees it as an outlet to express herself. She hopes that her writing can inspire readers to appreciate the beauty of life and the world we live in. Hannah’s work has been recognized at the Scholastic Arts and Writing Competition and published in Girls Right The World, The Weight Journal, TeenWritersProject Quarterly Lit Zine magazine, Cathartic Literary Magazine, Journal of Undiscovered Poet (forthcoming), Idle Ink and Eternal Haunted Summer.

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