Counting To Ten

No not ever did he once
Nor ever again twice
And certainly not thrice
Like some trinity
Of sight impaired mice
Or fourth give
Seasoned advice
A quintessence of life
With hands held up high
“Give me five” they do cry
With sixth sense aroused
In meta’physical cloud
And twenty-four, seven
He’s working long and so tired
When rains, floods create
Wait for the eight
To row up to your gate
Whilst the ennead of gods
With Atum the prime
The most myth’o’logical nine
And finally reaching
A unitary thought
All this is but One with a
Gigantic big Naught.

by David Taylor

Comments (2)

I will never again count to ten in the same manner again...........brillant write....having read several of yours posted today I must ask, , , , , Did you, in the last week recive a Masters or perhaps even Doctorate in Writing? ? ? ? You are going off the charts here, pushing for the gold....Perhaps they need to add poetry to the summer olympics coming up in Greece, for you would need to enter yourself.if that were to ever happen...Last I heard though, writing is still not a sport, though it should be for the pleasure and sport of it, marci.xo~~~
This poet's having fun...!