Procrastination

The evening sweeps across the lands
the midnight hours are at hand
once again the day will cease
more or less or though who keep
the time in their crippled fingers

The time is at hand
and once again it seems I’m late
the hours pass me by
the more I do the less I have

the black of night fades to day
The hours of school drag on and on,
never is not enough and once is too much
the black ink stains the page

and the more I write the less I know
the final bell rings and I am free
But not really free because the hours are few
I stare at the floor past my worn black shoes

the more I stare the more I have to do
my telephone rings and before I move
im left, once again, stuck behind
It happened once and always will

the day turns black as the words on my paper
the more I wait the less I do
the hours grow late
and my ears still ring

I work late hours, into the morning. My pen changes from black to blue.
Once I am done I can take no more.
the alarm clock rings and I must do more.