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Rated: E · Poetry · Opinion · #2219048
The sly ways of procrastination.
Perhaps tomorrow, procrastination said;
I heard, he did not even hesitate.
He always says this ‘cause he knows
if uttered, he will not be late.

He sits with folded arms in his easy chair,
and gazes out the window at the sky.
There’s not a thing to rattle him;
he is a laid-back kind of guy.

Procrastination’s other name is Delay;
with a wave of his hand he puts things off.
If one remarks, It needs done now,
laid-back Delay will sit and scoff.

Delay, or better yet Procrastination,
(both names are apropos, yet one beats drums),
does not consider worry lines
because tomorrow never comes.

Never put off tomorrow what can be done
you probably know the rest of this saying.
He bides his time with his head down;
no urgency can be conveying.

Hey Delay, are you the one who looks beyond
horizons that are ominous and stark?
The sunlight shines upon your head,
yet I think you embrace the dark.

Procrastination (read: postpone) has it made;
in this regard he’s like a sacred cow.
Time is a constant day away,
as he dismisses here and now.

I’ve suffered with Delay at times, as do all;
and truth be told, it’s always fitful sorrow.
I asked if he could help me once,
but he replied, Perhaps tomorrow.

32 Lines
Rhythm: 11-10-8-8
Writer’s Cramp Winner
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