Static Mondays
Holy Monday poem, as passion week presses on...
4/14/20251 min read


Static Mondays are a hard truth
A riot turned holy in the children’s eyes
A systemic plan for business as usual,
A crouchy calling to the death of it all
An ordinary day
Turned messy
Turned, flip tables and diss tracks
Turned upside down
Turned dismantling
Turned risks
Turned reminder of facts
That tables should’ve never been there.
The children know
Condemned for speaking truth
For calling out who he is
For echoing what their grownups
Painted in mural of minds.
Only Hosanna could make such a mess.
The children knew he was holy
Disruption is how they defined his holiness.
The children knew before Friday
Death was already starting.
The children are familiar with death.
The children know when death angel creeps
And makes way for new life.
The children know danger
That breeds victory.
The children never cared for the tables anyway.
They look too much like system hearts.
The children watched exploitation take captive loved ones
For survival there.
The children know these tables don’t breed life,
But this Monday’s death might just do it.
The children say,
No more “No More Static Mondays”
Only Holy ones.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall...
Reflecting ourselves through varied creative mediums.
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