Ode to the Muse of Dead Week

With Dead Week in full swing, more than one of us may feel in need of divine inspiration. As luck would have it, like the epic poets Homer and Virgil, desperate college students have a muse of our own to call upon. However, unlike those ancient writers, our imaginary guardians are a little less friendly. Here’s a sonnet to celebrate our special friend: Procrastination. 

O Muse of molten eye and iron finger, 

Who rules the hours, stagnant, cold, and late, 

Have mercy on your vassal, steely clinger, 

And let me go before I strangulate. 

I rise with high ambitions, ‘spite the gloom 

Of early classes not for mortals meant, 

But all is naught when you decree my doom; 

How vain, how gullible was my intent! 

Sometimes you slink, behind my conscience lurking,  

A shadow half-acknowledged, soon to spring. 

Sometimes you charge me squawking like a turkey– 

How sweetly do the holy muses sing! 

Farewell to joy, sleep, friends, and daylight’s rays: 

Procrastination rules my waking days.