Letting Go Poem by Martin Moore

LETTING GO
Her tears fall fervently and fill
The cool canal lock with saline sorrow.
The purple veined hand of fate
Straining at the lock gates
Has loosed water and her inhibitions
Allowing life within this glide
To ascend to a new echelon
Elevating all before it.
She sits on the canal bank
Where the mounting weight of newness
Washes over the stagnant old
Outshining and intermingling
Diluting with each distinct drop
Distilling each to a purer self.
A calm rendering
Where all things are equal
And all incorruptible
Not manacled by the magnitude of melancholia
She watches through salted eyes
Each tear stained cheek reflecting
A restrictive release of regret
Each single teardrop, a chain link
To history, to the hypnotic
Ancient sweethearts and suitors
The bottled aspirations of her teenage self.
The cocooned molecules of misery, are her tears
Alighting on the lichen covered limestone lock
Grey permanency personified
The boundary to her bane, her barrier
The barbs of which still stab
At that purple veined hand
Bleed it and unmask the unmoved
Revealing the rose within
A uniform beauty of petals and scent
Perishable yet persistent
A superficial crown to cap
The thorny heart of reality
Her trivial tears negated now
Brought to naught by nurture
She wipes her weary eyes
Inhales and sighs and finally lets go.