Procrastination Poem by Boluwatife Olalekan Amao

People call her the thief of time.
They're wrong.
She's an uncanny daemon,
a Robbing Hood with a duffle of stolen prospects.

Her voice,
sweet as the first bite of a missed homemade meal.
She sells you the ocean of time.
Relax, she says, you have more to spare.

Minutes seep into months.
You wake throned in a castle of dreams,
empty but for the echo of ifs.
A Robbing Hood with her duffle,
vanished into the sands.

Time was always borrowed.
The debt's due.

Seven minutes.