but still the moon rises

the only permanence is the lack thereof.

the little smiling child will soon be old
and her smile will be faltered by wrinkles.
she will see the moon - sometimes scattered among stars,
sometimes shy behind clouds - rise as the sun sinks.
she might see it tens of thousands of times.

she will see children be born
and she may see them die:
snatched from life
back into a silent state of pre-existance.
and sometimes it may be as swiftly as they were placed into it.

she will hear hatred
and she will hear love.
she might listen from a distance
or she might try to cover her ears,
as the world screams and spits at and soothes her smiling face.
she may even scream and spit at and sooth it back:
and she might regret it
and she might not.

she will feel closeness
and she will feel distance.
she might feel both
in an oxymoronic moment of
weakness.
sometimes the weakness will last,
but it will never be permanent.
                                                for  the  only
                                                permanence
                                                is  the  lack
                                                thereof. 

but still the moon rises
as the sun sets.