POEM: Counting Mysteries

The boy sat upon temple steps counting mysteries,
but he lost count upon discovering that one mystery is all mystery,
and all mysteries are but one mystery.

They are the word on the tip of one’s tongue.
They are the dream unremembered that leaves a flavor in one’s brain.
They are movement glanced out the corner of an eye,
vanishing when one focuses one’s mind or eye upon it.
They are the unknown, but vaguely felt.
They are an itch amid thoughts, offering nothing to scratch.

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