I tell myself, Not now, but soon,
As hours slip by and day turns to moon,
Each task a shadow, a whisper, a weight,
Pushed to the future, left for fate.
The list grows longer, a towering spire,
Each undone deed fuels the fire,
A creeping pressure, a heavy chain,
The echoes of time call out my name.
One more scroll, I plead, I stall,
As unfinished work begins to sprawl,
The walls close in, the air turns tight,
Procrastination steals my fight.
I see the path I should have tread,
The steps unwalked, the words unsaid,
Yet here I sit, in stillness bound,
With every choice, I lose more ground.
The weight of delay becomes my cage,
A storm of regret, a quiet rage,
Trapped in a cycle, I fight to break free,
But the grip of avoidance clings to me.
Still, I rise with a trembling start,
A small rebellion, a beating heart,
One task, one step, one fleeting win,
A crack of light lets hope begin.
For though the mountain looms ahead,
And doubts still whisper in my head,
Each effort, no matter how slight or small,
Chips at the fortress, crumbles the wall.
Procrastination, you won’t define,
The rhythm, the purpose, the life that’s mine,
I’ll fight your hold, though the battle is long,
With steady resolve, I’ll grow strong.
