Procrastination

I heard a distant voice on the eve of a new year. It may be I dreamed it, but I’m unsure that’s so. The voice softly said I will soon leave this sphere. But first there are things to make right ’ere I go. My mind replayed shameful scenes from yore— The lies I told about others, my habit to covet. The candy I stole from a neighborhood store. The insults I fumed that made egos plummet. “You see, my aged friend, you have work to do.” I had to admit that the voice had my number. Dishonorable deeds of my past were too true. Ah, but it was only a dream, for still I slumber.