Contributor: Shawn Chang

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With a jar of feathers and tar in the lorn lands, the farthest star,
Thou the sick and sinful thief count thy so many a captur’d heart.
Running about with brine and knife, salting deep wounds and steering strife,
Bringing Death to those still in life by tearing their souls apart.
Turn to me not, I impart.
Leave. Depart.
We part.
Should have done so at the start.


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Shawn Chang is a 16-year-old writer. His poems have appeared in several anthologies. A horror story of his is set to be published on Hallowe'en.

Contributor: Shawn Chang

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Beneath the moonlight’s silver silken shine,
I see these eyes of yours, so mirror-clear;
Imagine I am yours and you are mine
For all our lives, our future - many a year.

These eyes of yours in many a flagrant flame
Do glow and gleam and glimmer on their own -
Brigades of brimming blazes fly to fame,
Through rainbow rays they flare by force unknown.

Beholding stones already honed with care,
I hold it twice a joy to hear you speak
Of love for me in lilt so fine, so fair -
For you’re the One, the only One I seek.

It counts not how the dice of fate are cast;
For us the truth is held - our love will last.


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Shawn Chang is a 16-year-old writer. His poems have appeared in several anthologies. A horror story of his is set to be published on Hallowe'en.

Contributor: Shawn Chang

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Between horizons, skies and seas apart,
Is but a postern that hath long begun
To echo breaths of lungs and beats of heart
Of He whose eyes do shift but take in none.

A blind sole shepherd, cloak’d and hand with crook,
Doth lure and lead in namely happenstance,
With shadows the morose moon doth thus hook
In sad serenity and tranquil trance.

Imaginary immortality
Of He sans whom the Sun would never climb
No starlight, moonlight, nor gold sunlight be
Without th’ eternal ripping tide - Him, Time.

Away, do come, to hear the maiden’s sigh
As moments wane and phantom dreams do die.


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I am 16 years old.