Monday.

 

The mad birth of the week.

Infant among days, bottle - fed

With the bold milk of dreary morning.

 

Tuesday.

 

First steps taken toward understanding.

Learning the language of time.

A slow process, a brave climbing.

The absent knowledge of consequence.

 

Wednesday.

 

The week's equivalent of purgatory.

Static and the day's bereavement

Of what is not happening.

 

Thursday.

 

A thirst for ending.

The drought of the many

For the week's finality.

Wrinkles appearing on the face of experience

Showing signs of what should be happening.

 

Friday.

 

Life on steroids.

An angry consumption

Of excitement for most.

The manic intentions of previous day's despair

Displayed in hours with a rage

That desperately craves peace.

 

Saturday.

 

Fat and inanimate.

A supposed resting but boredom instead.

Fickle reflection of a short life.

Pondering memories in past tense.

Acknowledgment of almost finishing.

 

Sunday.

 

A sudden death.

An actuality of regret

For what could have happened.

An old man demanding more time

To do things long lusted

But ends none the less

Leaving nothing more

Than a longing for one last chance.

Not knowing the reincarnation of Monday.