The Music of Our Lives

The Music of Our Lives

It’s getting late-but the hour glass is broken,

Because the sand beneath our feet flows much faster,

Than the hands upon the clock;

Gentle rain glides down the windshield,

In perfect harmony with our hearts,  

 

Crosses made upon misted glass-sacrifices we have made

Our eyes dance together

From somewhere far above the Earth we know,

Is a symphony that only we can hear

Just two hearts-Ours-in perfect rhythmic beat

The Music of Our Lives