In the Hands of Loneliness

I write about hopeless immigrants

In the tumbling waves of the mass of deep blue sea,

And the bright yellow daisy garden

In the middle of a thunderstorm.

I write about the lonely killer

Who crumbled to death in the new world of absolute order,

Where the pure agony of a child

gets sucked into death’s hand,

like a dandelion’s pappuses disappearing into the unknown blue.

I like to write about the rich copper hair

that every girl wants to have,

While the barely hanging hope

Lingers in the air of hospitals

Where patients take their last staggered breath.

I write about the unforeseeable future of equality:

a matter that some detest, while others avidly advocate,

In a planet where self-centered humans

wretchedly destroying the already decaying Earth.

I write about the long lost letter

I wrote a decade ago to my imaginary, but closest friend

And talk about the dusty, tattered pink book

That is still sitting in the ruins of war.

I write about a tattered boy

Who wants nothing more than his mother’s love

And a dejected jester in the midst of a chaotic circus.

Emily Khym is a 14-year-old rising sophomore attending The Loomis Chaffee School in Windsor, Connecticut. In her free time, when she is not writing, she enjoys listening to music, playing the flute, and long runs. She is currently preparing her writing portfolio for university.