I blink my eyes, 

And it is gone. 

Gone like it was never here.

And it won't be back, 

Until next weekend. 

When the cycle repeats. 

For five days every week, 

It is as if time stops

Before my very own eyes. 

I'm busy, 

Busy as a beetle.

But time is slow, 

As slow as a sunrise. 

I'm trudging on all day.

As boredom continues

To attack me. 

I work, work, and work,

All day, every day. 

Those five days seem,

Like five years. 

But finally the clock, 

Strikes midnight.

And suggests that

It actually does move. 

And after eternity, 

It is

The weekend. 

Oh, the weekend. 

Now, time races- 

Busy as a beetle. 

While I'm relaxing, 

Moving as slow as a sunrise.

Whether reading, 

Or sleeping, or 

Surfing the web.

I cannot blink.

Because when I do, 

My ephemeral paradise

Ends just like that.

My life and time, 

Switches roles yet again.

And the eternal week,

Hits full force.