Puerile Souls

Falling from an ocean star,

Effusive as the morning Sun,

Juxtaposing souls on an altar,

Pearl clouds neath, we run

 

Into a moonshine hue green,

Amid a forest euphoric azure,

Footsteps in amber unseen,

A subtle but ecstatic gesture

 

For minstrels to descend below

And golden trumpets weave forth

For souls in sonority glow

In the halls of the crimson court;

 

Resting neath canvas of stars,

Puerile jests we mildly share,

Words forth mellow and sparse

Into glistening eyes I thus stare.