roaming the outskirts of a town. where my name can still be heard, every once in a while. carrying the spirits of my own past. thinking to myself within the thoughts of others… for the wildly reckless, i used to be. as i get lost within the person i am, for who i want to be. and perhaps my days of howling at the moon, ain’t what they used to be. as i tend to speak a whole lot quieter these days. singing softly to the winds, to carry me away. following the twists and turns, down a lost highway. because i can’t fight the path… behind me, nor in front of me. although i sure can hang on tight. as i pray for neither sunlight, or moonlight. but for the moments,
i hope hang on to me.
-joshua ryan stewart