The Ignorant

A faint murmur, from across the seas,
it is but the bequeathing of Morpheus,
as hollow seems, the mundane decrees,
upon the wings, of dreams glorious,
What says he, from the walls of unrest,
A step forth, and then fear of the fall,
Or may be, the dread of heart's conquest,
what if it be, love's long awaited call,
The quest of pursual, is wontedly exacting,
and the conquer, is not always reached,
the callowness of affection, is often tormenting,
as unwelcomed bounds, are ofttimes breached,
           And the seeker, perpetually awaits compliance,
           A tenuous melding, towards an onliest alliance.