The Count
The list of pages seemed
unnumbered, countless dreams
stretched along the first page
the list of poems I made.
How many, I wondered and thought
stream along this listed vault?
Too tired or too lazy to count
I added yet another from my fount.
Some though, still lay hidden in my book
written by hand along the mood I took.
These will never find their way
to this poetry soup display.
Too deep, too emotional, too personal
wielded in rhetoric less versatile,
kept safe and un-revealed
within my poetry without appeal.
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