Outfit Maker

Ode to Procrastination

As the church bells toll,

I sleep away my soul.

The clock ticks,

The water drips.

The saucers scream

While I eat ice cream.

The silence is deafening,

Boredom is a blessing.

The tune of torment

Is truly delightful.

For it is the

Sound of nothing

Nothing being done,

Nothing being sung.

It’s the sound of

The crow’s caw,

The cricket’s chirrup.

It is the draining echo

Of an eternal ennui.

It’s the rhythmic tap,

Of an astray heartbeat.

The devouring gulp,

Of a whirlpool.

It’s the resonance

Of organized chaos.

It’s the subtle hum

Of disappointment,

The deafening roar,

Of procrastination.

It’s the muted chorus

Of a million

Happy endings

Destroyed.

It’s the jingle

Of an internal war.

It’s the silent refrain

Of lavish languor.