Monday Morning

I am a Monday morning, when the sky and earth rise to greet the moon,
as it sinks below the horizon.
Early sunlight fills the air, fills the lungs of early risers.
The world smells like coffee.

I am a Monday morning, when five o'clock is your waking hour,
and the streets are dead, and the light is dim.
I breathe liveliness into your chest.
I see your bright eyes.

You may be unhappy about Monday morning, but I'm not.
You're thinking that Monday morning is just the mundane start of another mundane week;
a week that you will spend doing mundane things.
I cannot concur.
This Monday morning, you will smile.
You will think.
Maybe, you will love,
but definitely,
you will brew coffee.

I am a Monday morning, when the sun smiles at you
and you forget to smile at the sun.

I am a Monday morning, and I see your life,
and I value your culture, and I am omnipresent.

I am a Monday morning, and precious silence befalls my ears
before it transforms into the sound of the world rising from sleep.

I am a Monday morning, and I feel the gentle heat of the sun
warming my face as I come to an end.

I am a beautiful Monday morning,
and the world is spinning,
and today is another day,
and you are still alive.
And all you can think about
is coffee.