I wrote this poem two years ago. It’s a reflection I had about Monday, the day after Easter. It’s my thoughts of the feelings of hope that we have within us that the old has gone and the new is come.
“This Monday Is Different”
No one likes the day after Sunday.
We cringe at the thought of this day.
So we lay ever so still, wrapped in safety.
With uncertainty and trepidation we crack open an eye.
We peer out as if behind a mother’s apron.
With hope we pray this Monday is not like others past.
That doom is still upon us because of Sin.
That we still have an Accuser who confess our secrets.
That Death still has its sting.
But not this day after. This day after —
this Monday is different.
He is not where they thought they left him —
wrapped in linen and sealed airtight in darkness.
Instead, he prepares breakfast for his friends.