I felt comfortable, still, and ready
While I sat with my mind set and steady.
The white void asking to be filled with rhyme
As words flood the lines with the passing of time.
This poem was no ordinary display of penmanship
as it was about procrastination for a good scholarship.
Such a work of wit and word was due tomorrow
and if I failed to finish I surely would fill with great sorrow.
I picked up my pencil, with its tip skillfully sharp,
Like young David waiting to play his magnificent harp.
But I heard a sound, a very familiar sound
Pervade through the quiet room unbound.
My phone. My phone had received a call.
I answer to discover my friends were at the mall.
I was invited to join them and I stared with great spite
at the blank and lifeless paper, plain and white.
I convinced myself I will complete it soon
as I began to leave that house right at noon.
Hours and hours passed without hesitation
carrying the inevitable doom of procrastination.
I convinced myself I will have time at home
If I leave the mall and do not continue to roam.
But my friends, who were having great fun,
did not want to consider our time together done.
A new movie was out in the mall's theater here
and I yearned to see the film's early premier.
I entered within the theater with the sun still in sight
as I reassured myself that I would finish that night.
The movie was outstanding and exceeded my expectation!
But soon crept in the guilt of my procrastination.
The moon reigned high in the sky above all the stars,
beaming its silky light over a parking lot without cars.
My heart sank and my stomach tied into a knot
as I discovered the disaster in which I had been caught.
I rushed off to my home to escape into my room
in attempts to break free from this incredible doom.
I had enjoyed my time but I was filled with regret.
I looked at the clock and felt it was not over yet.
I accepted the challenge of staying up late
to finish my poem and to prevent the unwanted fate.
I sat uncomfortably, irritated, and with dread
as the desired rhymes failed to fill inside my head.
My eyelids grew heavier with each passing second
and my comfortable bed selfishly beckoned.
I could no longer take it and I felt sick with realization
that I had fallen into the trap of my procrastination.
I had no time to complete my poetry in the morning,
and incomplete work would provoke such a scorning.
I rested my head on my desk unable to encumber
my exhaustion and I drifted off into deep slumber.
I fell asleep full of regret that dreadful night,
on the blank and lifeless paper, plain and white.