Countless Number Poem by Louis Borgo

Four ever four it made be one
Highly heighten to reach does we sometime fall for just words,
Without suggesting to point or point point blank,
Or a signature that has be made,
Just listen carefully how one words holds balance or does value pour in fear,
A good one or as a bridge to clap on to a ledger how does it hold place,
To hold a barrel of light sensitivity or vulnerability,

Quiet or is to quite the verge of absolutely value,
For every tear that drop may one knows a gate is topped,
A battle field of blood lushes to some it may be a rush to those,
That know all to well passion or lost deeds swell,
Death like shark that pipes tie to shores.



More days over held promise lack of conscience brick travels hold the time of travels,
As to look among a days end does one look or hold the tracks of a voyage,
Similar to a whisper does it projection or carrier a tone all and all,
When look at one is it a sense that capture a couple or the, arrangement they are a good couple,
Question to redeem of maybe of one self?




Look further down is it a key point or like caviler to a,
Smell of rotes even to sleep or sleep even just to be,
Just to be,
Count on the one,
Who was the first one to enter and last to leave?
Can one hold a conversation,
Please.