Pro Crastinator

The clock ticks:

seconds, minutes, hours.

like a warrior,

in retreat from an enemy,

I remain no closer to conquering the project at hand.

It is no challenge,

But the longer I refrain,

The harder it becomes.

Seconds, minutes, hours.

Stress.

The wait was too long.

Now it’s a rush to finish.

Seconds, minutes, hours.

Lost. No longer mine to work with.

There is now no time to formulate.

The gestation period for ideas

cut short by an untimely birth.

It is finished.

False reality states:

“Next time we will start before the end is in sight.”

But the next challenge will be fought

with no variation.