“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—
only one we dare. 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 will 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.
This poem was first published on Medium /@joe.puentes