How simple seems the edict to let go.
As though a grasp of heart were that of hand
Where fingers numb and soon release control;
But stubborn souls can many blows withstand.
But should the bonds of memory retain
By force the past and future’s hopes and dreams?
For mourning is just that: desire’s reign,
Feeble attempts to mend these fraying seams.
But let us weep a while, let tears flow free
To wash o’er these parched mouths and trembling lips
To loosen grips of grief’s solemnity
As souls set sail like heaven’ly-guided ships.
Feel not obliged to stay, dear Souls, roam on
Take rest in flight: your letting go is done.
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