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Rated: E · Poetry · Nonsense · #1782173
Numbers are the source of many strange obsessions.
He is number twenty-four,
they told him so last night,
they told him that and nothing more,
then vanished out of sight.

“Twenty-four of what?” he thinks.
The answer isn't clear.
His heart, for a split-second, sinks,
but soon his mind brings cheer.

He hunts around the world for clues,
in hope of something more.
He weathers storms of mind-abuse,
in realms of ancient lore.

Twenty-four hours in a day,
but that seems wrong, somehow.
The carats of perfect purity
but he's no more clean than thou

A semi-perfect number,
that's normal for us all
A number for the fiery church
but he's never heard their call.

The number of Tirthankars
but the last died long ago.
The notes that make up the spectrum
how that could fit he can't know.

The number of cycles in a Chinese year,
the number of letters in Greek.
The answer could only be found by a seer.
our hero is simply too weak.

Twenty-three has caught more minds,
a number that darkens the door.
the fear of that is easy to find,
but there's nothing on twenty-four.

So he forgets this number, and cleanses his mind
and walks on the path that's laid out.
He wanders on, hoping only to find,
a place where daimons talk, but don't shout.



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This spun off noticing I had 24 recognition points after watching the movie "Number 23".
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