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.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2014
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