Original article posted by Olorle:

Let her have time, and silence,
enough paper to make mistakes and go on
“The Poet”
– Jane Hirshfield

Leave her behind and travel south; past garish billboards,
through construction that releases rage. Let her go and drive
home, blaring sad music, an excuse to hide tears. Drive faster,
a vain attempt to outrun memories. Stare into the Big City
as you pass. Tempt and lull yourself, play with plans to find
something new. Pick up the phone. Never quite make the call.
Miles pile on, emptying south, other cars drawn off, finding
exits. Giving moments alone on endless highway. Then
a recognized tone. Snatch up that phone. First moment,
disappointment, at a voice unknown. It questions, looking
for truth, needing hope from an unbiased source. Sad music
turned down. Driving on, but turning towards dawn. Maybe rebirth.
Hours pull on; cars drawing the sun. Two strangers talk on, filled
with new hope. Words flow like Dionysus’ wine. No plan. No
destination. Impulse guides you on. More sights as you talk, sharing
dreams. And nightmares. Tangling past woes into shared hopes
for something better to come. Ignore the beep of another call. Leave
them to wonder where you are. Turn down the scenic route, suddenly
drowning beneath it all. Too much hope, and pain, too much beauty
spilling out. Stop at cliff’s edge, staring into the abyss. Face the dark
mirror of Self. Let it finally go.

Orginal comments:

Nickname: Greg
Re: Let it Go
This poem is a familiar tune delivered by a cover-band in a smoky bar.