Procrastination

The fettered beast which we hold in ourselves.
Of promises not kept.
A cunning voice within,
Whispers,
“This time is better spent to do not,
what is better left for another hour.”
“Tomorrow is a better day, is it not?”

We fight at first,
But honey drips,
from its silvery tongue.
We loosen our guard.
We crawl into the beasts outstretched arms.
The smell of lavender, chamomile,
of our favorite comforts, permeate our senses.
We relax ourselves into it,
pushing (or so we make ourselves believe)
the thing which we had to do far from our minds.
The beast, which bides it time,
which has us completely,
snaps its jaws shut.  

Eventually,
we escape the beasts grasp.
Battered and gasping for air,
we struggle to finish,
what we once had so much time to do.
We swear the beast off.
We say,
“Never will I Procrastinate again.”
Until, one day, we hear the whispers,
and smell the scent,
that comforting, cloying fragrance,
and the beast has us in its grasp,
once again.