In a futile endeavor
To count out my last days
I procured an abacus
And candle clock to set ablaze
Once the abacus was gold
The clock was wicked and waxed
But foolish me, the gold tarnished
The candle waned and then collapsed
And as the days passed me by
I didn't get to count
The clock ticked out irregular
The days were an indefinite amount
And wondering what followed
Was cause not to see
All that I had hoped for were some
Final halcyon memories
Next I strung a rope above
Not from which to swing
Planning only to climb up
And find a spot to latch a string
From this string new threads would conjure
Stable ports of call
A feeble means of locating
Solace, impenetrable
And as the days passed me by
I didn't get to count
The clock ticked out irregular
The days were an indefinite amount
And wondering what followed
Was cause not to see
All that I had hoped for were some
Final halcyon memories
Whether forwards or before
I know I'd leave behind
My pale pyrite abacus
And ashes with my peace of mind
Misgivings and uncertainty
So easy to deplore
Are real, unrelenting, and
As such, refuse to be ignored
And as the days passed me by
I didn't get to count
The clock ticked out irregular
The days were an indefinite amount
And wondering what followed
Was cause not to see
All that I had hoped for were some
Final halcyon memories
So as my solace light to the sky
The rope and string ablaze
I watch the swirling tufts of smoke
And finally time meets my gaze
The abacus, unmelting, tilts
And, gleaming, counts to none
The candle, similarly, knows
Its days of burning time are done