Monday?

Unhappy dawn,

Morning yawn,

Perpetual motion machine madness,

A delicate balance divided,

Relentless shame succumbing to the crowd,

They all wear the same sadness.

The gentle moon sails into the night of yesterday,

While they crawl from their pits to ignore today,

Like sitcom reruns,

Devoid of surprises,

The automated Monday we are forced to believe,

This alien & man made idea,

The names we condemn our days to,

Lies to our intuition,

Like droids we believe this has happened before,

The self-fulfilling prophecy,

That Monday thing.

These seven days each have a life,

We have led ourselves to believe,

Monday, Wednesday, Friday,

Each one jumps out with a vibe of it's own,

But we made these,

Each second is new,

Never before seen,

Don't demand this conformity of me,

Don't make me believe in this is 'Monday',

It's a new day,

Fresh and true,

But they accept no other way,

You must behave and belong,

There is no choice,

It only works like this,

The boxes our little minds need to believe exist,

And we loose more than we know,

As the days just go,

Short changed,

Deranged and alone,

I want to say no,

Today is mine,

New and bold,

Untold,

Unknown,

We just don't know,

That reality is new and continues to be born,

In us and for us,

but we live in cycles,

Conform to the synthetic reality,

And allow ourselves to be told,

This is Monday again,

Again and again,

Well is it?