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 Jun 2014 Qweyku
Meenu Syriac
Beyond the walls that hold you in
Touch of crimson hue and stained with ink.
Write your story with your blood within,
Take a blade, and let the tale begin.

Down the lane, memories pretend,
Casting shadows, the mind cannot lend.
Let the lies be one with your self succinct,
Dreaming was always your dearest sin.

And as you take each step towards the door,
Rising fear, draws you back into recluse.
Stories, countless, but no courage to share,
A plea to take you back to the better days.

Let the pages be filled with pain and misery
Write it out now, let the ink run out with your story.
And with the last page, let the suffering be quenched
Step outside into the sun, let a new life begin.
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.
 May 2014 Qweyku
Megan Grace
i
a  m
positive
that   you
are  made  of
s  t   a  r   d  u  s  t
and  water  balloons,
oil  pastels  and  the
collecti­on          of
settled     sugar
at             the
b o t  t o m
of      my
c u p s
o     f
t e a
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