Monday
The coffee cools within the cup,
The sun climbs slow to wake us up.
The weekend ghosts begin to fade
Into the plans that must be made.
The inbox blinks its steady light,
Displacing dreams from Sunday night.
A heavy breath, a measured pace,
To meet the week and find our place.
The streets are loud with rushing feet,
Where duty and the heartbeat meet.
Yet even in the gray routine,
A quiet hope remains unseen—
For though the morning starts the climb,
It’s just a beat in spinning time.