Numereulogy

You were a counter,
a counterpoint
to what you are today,
when you have joined
the final census
and laid down books.

A number on a chart,
ticked off the counter
in an endless dance,
entireness morphing
and eternal perspectives
in every soul window
boiled down pointless
to a single digit
among millions.

For every flip of number
a universe is eradicated
between a last sigh
and closing lids.

The books remain,
though media morphs.

New counters count
the ever ticking digits.

Knowing, but trying
not to linger there,
that they will sigh,
shrink and fade
into digits parading
the eternal display,
charted chains
of entireness.