Seed

By Frank Cone via Pexels

Don’t fret a moment longer
not an inkling left to linger
let it go instead
to lisp between the waters

Do say, let it spiral out
a twisting sort of trouble
about to surmount to something
greater than worth fussing about

Just hold it, dream tender,
so much softer than remembered
but wish it well, to send aflutter
to be no one’s left to wonder

Though it might beggar
to prolong unsavoury weather
there is no more time to let it be
when the only assurance it could garner

Is the aching kind, the kind
to staple the wingspan of the soul
to a boardwalk forged from coal and left
to swelter on and on

Let it be
Let it lie

Devoid it of its name
and then be lost

no longer yours or theirs or anyone’s
no longer mine