It is an easy thing
It is an easy thing
To make an excuse
The sun is too hot
The sky too high
Every time you sit down
To think
Workmen start to drill
Bang and shout
The songs on the radio
Are not yours
The scream of a baby
The demands of life
Arguing with yourself
About roles and responsibilities
Putting everything in a box
Shoving it under the bed
Into a cupboard
Saying “I’ll get back to it one day.”
When it never comes
But the mortgage is paid
You’re on your own
With time on your hands
Who paints your pictures
Writes your books
Who went to University
To make a difference
What is the point of trying
When the world
Is pushing too hard
The tide always rips
You off your feet
When you try to make a stand
The landlord makes his demands
The bills always come in
Nobody waits for your call
Or cares if you fall
They’ve heard it all before
From so many
Dilettantes with excuses
For sitting on their hands
And holes in their story
When they pass themselves off
As artists in the making
If only the timing was right
Nothing comes of
Procrastination but regret
There are no re-runs
As time slips away
Into the rear view
And the destination
Keeps changing
Until there is no recognising
The place you’re at
Or how you arrived
At a point in your life
When the best of times
Were lost to inertia