Overcast

My overcast heart
joins the crowd of
allied souls, trudging
into another week.
The dull, grey pall overhead
reflects our somber mood.

Why so gloomy?
We’re clothed, we’ve eaten,
risen from beds with
clean cotton sheets;
where’s the deficit we
perceive so keenly?

I can only speak for myself
in saying it’s a construct
of my own mind,
based on a lifetime
of skewed narratives
about Mondays,
about mornings,
about work.

Personally, I like all three.
My tired mind wrestles
with this awhile,
running my limited
mental programme
of useful life lessons:

One: look up.
What appeared to be a
steel-shuttered firmament
breaks into paler cloud,
with a small promising
patch of blue
to the south.

Two: be grateful.
Aforementioned bed,
breakfast and clothes.
The music I filled my
head with on the bus,
plus the book I’m reading,
a free evening ahead.

Three: listen to your body.
It is simply telling me
I’m tired. Get an early night.
But for now, get up:
get on your feet,
and all will be
well with your soul.