Philosophical Poetry Week: Metaphysical Monday
Though I know not, how it is there
I can tell, what it is
Though I know not, why it is there
I can tell, what it is like
It, is Monday
Always first in weekdays
Usually last in favour
Manic is the bangles watchword
Born into the unknown routine
We sit and watch coffee stew
A day of beginning or
Merely repeating cycle?
How did this come to pass?
Why does it linger still?
In the bleak light of dawn
Cold coffee dregs hold no answers
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