The countdown to nothing

I fantasize about the joy
that numbers can bring,
the completion - a sensation
that these counts carry along

Age, while I steadily climb,
I wish for the absence of these,
Markers, they are to my mortality.
A slow but certain finality.

Money, while sought is finite 
Created nor destructed like
the energy. Accumulated in greed
of great amounts, albeit limited.

Anything of value, are assigned
An indicator, a marker, a rank
The harmless number now has
turned tides on my back

Tales, they tell innumerable
without saying one word
the digits set sail thus
into man's infinite eternity




Prompt #7:  Write a poem that evokes the concept of counting.