From the Violet Hour and Her Sister of Heartbroken Ballads

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What are my words worth? 
A romantic afterlife? 
My poised poetry, immortal
A weapon I yield when my hands are tied

Broken bridges can't be forgiven 
A silver myth it is to find
Too many syllables lost in translation
A deafening puzzle of a mind

I fade so deep into the dissonance
And pray for dark lavender skies 
I watch the blood orange sun drown in the horizon
Call on my Midas touch one last time 

I never knew one could be so lovelorn
So I mourn endlessly for a life I never had
Here's a censored scripture of what I will never know
The violet hour and her sister of heart broken ballads. 



-auctor

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