Why Bother Counting

Anger transparent-

veils loosely as the noose

around the symptoms of imbalance

that plague my fading youth.

My hands, callused with pointless work,

my mind blurred with blind pain.

Sorrows born from the pain of others,

feed the flickering flames of my now listing spirit.

If all could be beautiful,

or all could be lost,

why then do I insist

on counting every cost?