Two Hearts Beating Mysteries

My keyboard drums within this coach
heading out for New York City;
"What’s that thang yer twangin' thar?"
asked the pettycoat’d pretty…

"Something from the darkest future
after you’ve gone, your last breath taken,
after all your roses fade
leaving silence, softness laid;
when this coach is a museum,
its horses stuffed, the coachmen pushin’
daisies up betwixt their boots
in prairies shorn of their roots…"

"When poets write what does not rhyme
though footprints trail across the moon,
when man can see a trillion miles
and still be blinded by love’s moods...
Something that is run by clocks
that tick ten billion times a second
from men so far ahead of others
they are deemed gods instead of brothers…"

"A world where war is still around,
still fought for keeps, still very loud;
when things are changing so fast that
five years before is a distant past,
and yet a world where much remains
from the good and bad you see today…"

“Dear sir”, exclaimed the frilly Miss,
“You do not seem too over-thrilled
about the future of this world,
are days yet mixed imperfectly
with pain and deep uncertainty?”

I could see she was concerned
about the future of the world
that her children may live to see…

"It’s true, my eyes and yours diverge
in what they’ve seen, in what we’ve heard…
A perfect world? For some perhaps,
who’ve found true love make time pass,
who've bonded with a force that yet
eludes those would seek to guess
all the answers to life’s quests,
who pursue the same old mysteries
that are unresolved today…"

As the coachmen bounced along
I looked at her, she looked at me,
four eyes lost in distant thoughts
two hearts beating mysteries…