I stared ahead at the unfamiliar woods, with no path in sight. How had I gone so wayward? How had I messed it up this horribly? I saw one flower, and then another, and before I knew it, the road was unknown. I don’t even know where that I last came from.
Wayward we went, on the sailboat. The sea was elegant the sky was a beautiful. A mix of colors filled the sky purple, pink, orange and yellow. The ocean had a deep sense of comfort. It made me feel at home.
She looked out the window and couldn’t believe her eyes. Driving down the path to her house was the Impala……..and Dean was driving. She couldn’t help but start singing, “carry on my wayward son…..
The car was wavering on the road, and as Marianne sipped her tea, her heart caught in her throat as it veered dangerously near her; from where she was sitting, enclosed by her warm garden, no car should have been able to come near. However, this one petered at the very edge of her fence.
Stubborn. Wayward. Disobedient. Undisciplined. He’d heard it all. None of it bothered him. He hated that they would say such things behind his back. Or attempt to, anyways. You’d think that from such “high class” people that they’d know more about discretion. And also come up with better “insults”.
i had to be the wayward kid the one who wouldn’t listen is my life better or wirst for no longer carrying what people think way ward is the adventure the turning away from the conventional it is like macon and trueyes, he’s 39 and sh’e 6
The path had long since vanished in my wayward flight from the woods. I now stood in the tall yellow grass of the field, seeing everything and nothing spread out for miles in front of me. Heaving I grasped the map in my hands, and continued on low to the ground, letting the yellow stalks conceal my path from the panic voices that called for me.
Wouldn’t it be great to go this way? I mean wayward. I think of it as a trip outside my regular life; somewhere that I don’t know anyone but am willing to nod and gesture my way into learning the language. Even at this late date in my life. It’s an idea I like because I’ve always loved the idea of reinventing myself. Not so much that I don’t recognize me at all; just enough to have a new start. When I was little, about 5, I was thinking one day about how much time I had to live; how much life there was ahead of me. It seemed like ages and ages and ages; so long that I couldn’t believe it. It made me so happy. There were so many things I didn’t know but knew that I would find out about, like how to drive a car and go to the store by myself and make friends without having to go to school to find them. Everything was so wide open and there, I couldn’t believe how happy it made me feel to be so young and so ready to go out and do anything. And when I think about it now, I can’t believe that someone so little could have thoughts that big. Which tells me that I’d been somewhere before where the time had been not much time to go. Because how can you know that you have all that time unless you’ve been in a place where there’s no time left at all? You tell me. Back to wayward.
She was too far behind. He was too far ahead. Both lost and stumbling blind. But maybe together they would find the path. Maybe together they could find their direction and walk forward, start knowing where they’re going. Maybe they could save their wayward souls.
Carry on my wayward son as you march down the path to glory.
Carry on my wayward son as you go through your trials.
Carry on my wayward son as you show those who doubted you what you are made of
Carry on my wayward son and live your life the way you want.
Wayward yeah. That’s a good word to describe him. He was a wayward man, he used to get this look in his eye and this expression on his face and it could turn with in a moment from so happy and content, to angry and aggressive. You never quiet knew what he was thinking, even when the words were coming out of his mouth they could change in an instant. So yeah wayward, that is a good word.
I traveled the world for seven years with only a wad of cash in my back pocket and a backpack full of photographs and writing journals. I stayed in hostels and tiny homes free of charge because the owners pitied me and thought I would stray into the abyss if they didn’t reach out a hand. I was always known as the wayward daughter – unable to behave or remain in one place for very long. I tried to walk to the edge of the world, but there’s no such thing, of course, so all I did was move in circles.
Astray, astray, he stamps the butt into the ashtray, astray his parents cried longingly to the sky; astray her grandmother prayed every day, every day.
The wayward girl was nothing but trouble. She was constantly disobeying her parents and defying her teachers. No one knew what to do for her or to her. Nothing worked until the day that the sad, little dog walked across her path on the way home from school.
it’s suppsed be the something thing or… i don’t know.
i’m going to the google translatede see what is it….
ohh i know now.
In my little family, i know the one person, is a boy have eighteen years, he is very wayward. Now, you tell me whay? Because the edmar’s mother dosn’t talk with him about that.
CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON
something about sleep or doing something i forgot the words lol
maybe a dog
?
I stared ahead at the unfamiliar woods, with no path in sight. How had I gone so wayward? How had I messed it up this horribly? I saw one flower, and then another, and before I knew it, the road was unknown. I don’t even know where that I last came from.
Wayward we went, on the sailboat. The sea was elegant the sky was a beautiful. A mix of colors filled the sky purple, pink, orange and yellow. The ocean had a deep sense of comfort. It made me feel at home.
She looked out the window and couldn’t believe her eyes. Driving down the path to her house was the Impala……..and Dean was driving. She couldn’t help but start singing, “carry on my wayward son…..
The car was wavering on the road, and as Marianne sipped her tea, her heart caught in her throat as it veered dangerously near her; from where she was sitting, enclosed by her warm garden, no car should have been able to come near. However, this one petered at the very edge of her fence.
The way he acted really was wayward. He was so stuck-up, mr know it all, rude and so unkind. You would swear he once lived with the devil himself.
Stubborn. Wayward. Disobedient. Undisciplined. He’d heard it all. None of it bothered him. He hated that they would say such things behind his back. Or attempt to, anyways. You’d think that from such “high class” people that they’d know more about discretion. And also come up with better “insults”.
i had to be the wayward kid the one who wouldn’t listen is my life better or wirst for no longer carrying what people think way ward is the adventure the turning away from the conventional it is like macon and trueyes, he’s 39 and sh’e 6
The path had long since vanished in my wayward flight from the woods. I now stood in the tall yellow grass of the field, seeing everything and nothing spread out for miles in front of me. Heaving I grasped the map in my hands, and continued on low to the ground, letting the yellow stalks conceal my path from the panic voices that called for me.
On my kitchen table there’s a vase
full of silverware, of cutlery,
and flowers sit crumpled and glowing in
the drawer next to my sink
Wouldn’t it be great to go this way? I mean wayward. I think of it as a trip outside my regular life; somewhere that I don’t know anyone but am willing to nod and gesture my way into learning the language. Even at this late date in my life. It’s an idea I like because I’ve always loved the idea of reinventing myself. Not so much that I don’t recognize me at all; just enough to have a new start. When I was little, about 5, I was thinking one day about how much time I had to live; how much life there was ahead of me. It seemed like ages and ages and ages; so long that I couldn’t believe it. It made me so happy. There were so many things I didn’t know but knew that I would find out about, like how to drive a car and go to the store by myself and make friends without having to go to school to find them. Everything was so wide open and there, I couldn’t believe how happy it made me feel to be so young and so ready to go out and do anything. And when I think about it now, I can’t believe that someone so little could have thoughts that big. Which tells me that I’d been somewhere before where the time had been not much time to go. Because how can you know that you have all that time unless you’ve been in a place where there’s no time left at all? You tell me. Back to wayward.
I don’t know what it means but it is in one of my fav songs whitch is “carry on wayward son”
She was too far behind. He was too far ahead. Both lost and stumbling blind. But maybe together they would find the path. Maybe together they could find their direction and walk forward, start knowing where they’re going. Maybe they could save their wayward souls.
I often reminisce about the wayward days, where every came easy and life was simpler.
Carry on my wayward son as you march down the path to glory.
Carry on my wayward son as you go through your trials.
Carry on my wayward son as you show those who doubted you what you are made of
Carry on my wayward son and live your life the way you want.
hair and little rain bubbles on a red wooden table in my parents backyard
keep me under clouds and long wet grass
Wayward yeah. That’s a good word to describe him. He was a wayward man, he used to get this look in his eye and this expression on his face and it could turn with in a moment from so happy and content, to angry and aggressive. You never quiet knew what he was thinking, even when the words were coming out of his mouth they could change in an instant. So yeah wayward, that is a good word.
I traveled the world for seven years with only a wad of cash in my back pocket and a backpack full of photographs and writing journals. I stayed in hostels and tiny homes free of charge because the owners pitied me and thought I would stray into the abyss if they didn’t reach out a hand. I was always known as the wayward daughter – unable to behave or remain in one place for very long. I tried to walk to the edge of the world, but there’s no such thing, of course, so all I did was move in circles.
Astray, astray, he stamps the butt into the ashtray, astray his parents cried longingly to the sky; astray her grandmother prayed every day, every day.
The wayward girl was nothing but trouble. She was constantly disobeying her parents and defying her teachers. No one knew what to do for her or to her. Nothing worked until the day that the sad, little dog walked across her path on the way home from school.
Means to turn away and disobey. Example: the boy was told to wash the floors, but didn’t.
it’s suppsed be the something thing or… i don’t know.
i’m going to the google translatede see what is it….
ohh i know now.
In my little family, i know the one person, is a boy have eighteen years, he is very wayward. Now, you tell me whay? Because the edmar’s mother dosn’t talk with him about that.