The waves wash away
All our sins,
Even when these
Are not sins at all,
The cry of seagulls
Like paid mourners
To mark the passing
Of loved that may
Not be love at all,
This thing we keep
Inside for too long
So that like a hot coal
Its scalds us
We mistakenly believing
We should hold on
To something because
We think it will
Reward us when
All its does is bring
Us pain,
We bringing it finally
To where the waves
Washes up at our feet
Where we can finally
Loosen our grip
And let this last bit
Of coal loose
And watch the waves
consume it
Sometimes, it all we
Can do,
With love that
Is not love,
With a hot coal
We can no longer grip
Our fingers scaled
Our hearts
Overburdened with
Things that should
Not have been a burden,
In the first place,
The cries of gulls
Echoing inside
Our skulls
Saying:
“Let it go.”
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