In echo to a voice that whispers to the wind

In echo to a voice that whispers to the wind, but should shout at the sun because his writing rocks some...


The Lord governs the run,
He looks after the strays
Of these, i am one,

Time is cruel within constraints.
Bucking the rules only leaves bruises,
we fight in the face of feeling faint,
I guess it's better than the excuses.

Where is our victory march?
At such things i find a laugh.
When the surroundings are dark,
we walk out despite lack of path.
There is no complete book,
no map to take a look.

It is really only the ride,
collecting a smile's tide,
harvesting of the lost,
love given at no cost.

Is this what i would drop
or grip throughout a frost?

I am not pure.
I am not sure,
i have already lost my grip,
felt my fingers slip.
I am aware i am so sick,
in need of a perfect fix.

The number 5 comes into my life,
written under my very eyes,
i will keep up the search,
meanwhile I'll wade the dirt.
It could mean my history
or describe a tender scene,
Maybe I'll never know,
life is moving, i must let go.