In the quiet hours of a fleeting day,
A shadow lurks, its whispers play—
“Just one more scroll, a little more time,
The task can wait, it’s not yet prime.”

I remember promises made to you,
Mother, believing I’d see them through.
Assignments stacked, like mountains they grew,
Each one a reminder of things I’d undo.

But then a spark ignites within,
A yearning heart breaks through the din.
“No more delays, no more dismay,
I’ll seize this moment, come what may.”

With trembling hands, the pen takes flight,
Words tumble forth, fueled by the fight.
Tasks once daunting now gleam with light,
Each step a victory, each breath feels right.

Procrastination, you crafty friend,
Your chains grow weak, your whispers bend.
For the fire inside can’t be confined,
And the person who acts has left you behind.