Counting the days

I happen to count, not the numbers
Not the stars, not the blinks
But the days that die begetting nothing
And those that go pushing the pain
Few which pull back but go for sure
Days that pass away as their elder siblings
And some grow unique but break down usual

Why do I count? The birth, the death
And play the waves of wealth and loss
Since I can count, I should
On each of the counted days is my mark
And those not counted, exit unknown
Scarring a day makes it fruitful
Makes a memory, lesson for another day

And a day that succumbs uncounted
Also is my day where I did not live
My lifeless ticks turn it barren
But makes a way anyhow
Piles, void-rocks into nothing hill
The peaks of this rise mock. but hold
The dark ink that makes my mark