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1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.
Never trust a white man,
Never **** a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.
Don't enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don't believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry ******.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you'll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky.
Lyda M Sourne Feb 2018
I want to turn back time

Before the lies
Before my cries
Late in the night

I want to turn back truth

Before it hurt
Before cruel reality
Revealed itself to me

I want to bring them back

Before were four
Now we're no more
The family that was us
It's been some time, but it still feels wrong somehow..
Lyda M Sourne Feb 2018
Because you will live forever.

You will exist inbetween the pages of a private notebook.

You will sleep under the pillow with the handwritten poems.

You will live as a black art in the form of words.

But your name will never be mentioned.


Your sideways smile is etched in the mind and cannot be erased.

Your stolen, yet steady gaze is burned within the heart.

Your fingers that produces music from the tips are longed to be held.

But you will never be drawn, only written.


Your voice is the most precious music ever heard.

Your spoken words are poetry decorating the air.

Your laughter sends vibrations through the soul.

But you will not be heard, only imagined.


Despite all these,

You are real. You are here. And here you will stay.

Do not make me fall for you. For if I do, you will live forever. Not only in me, but in others as well.

And if this story will ever be done,

I will close the red, leather-bound notebook

and say,

Until Another Time.
You were my love until you broke my heart. Now you are my muse, and like a masterpiece in galleries, you are locked forever in words.
Lyda M Sourne Feb 2018
lure me in with the promise of your destruction and I will venture into the depths of the unknown

words are meant for a message across, don't make a riddle out of it

With a taste, tell me the tall tales of your inequities

Let them be divided in the quarters of your very heart and soul
Lyda M Sourne Feb 2018
It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break
Insomniac nights are the worst. And it's been going on like this for quite awhile.
Lyda M Sourne Feb 2018
It's a cracked glass bottle
With a few words left for keeps.

Carnival music and fairy lights
Illuminate dreams in restless sleep.

Dreams in abundant occurence
Day dreams at hold.

Don't get carried away
Into your cruel mind's black hole.

The rainy days come
Like white noise of broken television.

Senses play until they bleed
The music is what you've forgotten to envision.

Silence is longer
The language is lost.

In French they would say,
"Avoire une autre langue, c'est posséder une deuxième âme."
Whimsical sketches on late nights when I can't sleep.
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