Here’s how you gain prosperity
Pick the type of person you’ll be
In picking, keep your mind intact
Don’t be acted upon, but act

Look around at great ones you know
Their successes easily show
That this one maxim they enact
Don’t be acted upon, but act

When trying on the victim stance
Or feeling passive, take a chance
Stay on task - remember this fact
Don’t be acted upon, but act

Don’t rely on muscles and brawn
Do act - not be acted upon
Memorize this, and never go back
Don’t be acted upon, but ACT

Procrastination
Is some kind of action
Which needs no talent
Nor does it need passion
Procrastination
Time is always delayed
Meetings are always postponed
It gets nothing accomplished
Procrastination
The silent thief of time
Leaves no trace nor sign
In the end you'll fall behind

Dust, dust, infernal dust:
Mocked! Mortality mocked!
Toil, toil, burdensome toil,
procrastinator born.

I don't see, it's still clean.
I don't see, I don't care.
I don't see, just the wind.
Oh no! Now I see,
I cannot unsee, woe is me!

Dust, dust, infernal dust,
with vacuum be gone!
Toil, toil, burdensome toil,
Adam's curse, is there no escape?

the art of procrastination
is just that -
exactly what it says
on its faded, beaten label -
an art in itself;
a weathered process
that has divided humanity,
much like its more
celebrated
brethren - painting, dancing,
maybe even writing poetry.

the art of procrastination
makes no bones -
it is made of unequal
and ever-changing parts
of chaos and consistency,
passion and practice,
destruction and discipline,
all at once.

it is learning that
you can train yourself
to not feel fearful of
whatever doom is upon you,
but also struggling to stay
just barely afloat
when the tides of said doom
sweep you off your feet.
it is both vain strength
(to think you can outrun Time)
and smart cowardice
(to trust that you can hide from Time)

the art of procrastination
does not beat around the bush -
to master it,
you must walk on the serrations
of a double-edged dagger -
both balance
and falling beyond measure
can ruin the practice
of the oldest art
in all of existence.

seems like i'm just moving along
convincing myself that nothing's wrong
then i look back and wish things were different
i always keep a certain emotional distance
always jumping between several distractions
while all the plans i made never gained traction

why does it feel good to be lazy
why is doing nothing so easy
i might have something to say
but i'm not gonna do it today

it's a vicious cycle, it never stops
it just keeps on going until i drop
the brake's cut, the pedal's floored
and frankly i'm just feeling bored
i should be my own savior
but i'm always saving it for later

maybe it's time to stop pretending
and admit that this problem's never-ending
the sooner i realize, the better
i can't blame the weather forever