The stateless state, lacking continuity,
cannot but change; today becomes tomorrow,
youth becomes age, and life becomes death;
beyond this, none can know except to expect
that impermanence implies continuance.
The feather-weight of implication crushes;
not because it is known, but because it cannot be;
before the infinite question, unanswered,
the wise alongside fools are confounded;
sharing humanity, regardless appearances.
The sun, behind clouds, still warms, and
we say to ourselves, “This too, shall pass.”
Disaster and loss ambush intermittently, and
we comfort ourselves with, “This too, shall pass.”
Eager embrace of Anicca, betimes.
Meanwhile, the mystery remains, unanswered, and
we muse or mutter or moan, “This too, shall pass.”
The timbre and inflection, from consoling to chary,
still swimming against life’s tide, begrudgingly,
we struggle to avoid acknowledging, “This too, shall pass.”
“This too, shall pass.”