712

It was right to count the days,

for they were always numbered.

I kept the tallies close 

so nothing was forgotten.

It was wrong to count the days, 

for that was just the beginning.

I watched the balance drain 

of things I cannot reclaim.

The words used to match the actions.

Until rare are the words, sparse are the deeds

Until the pattern broke

Then silence became louder

The system was flawless, bravo!

Calculated without fear,

unapologetic.

I'm speechless with the craft.

So I count the days from here. 

I have derived my own equation. 

Not a calculation,

perhaps, a retribution.