It’s Thursday night, the air hangs heavy, thick,
The weight of work left leaden, weary and sick.
Four days we’ve toiled, the weekend’s distant gleam,
A mirage shimmering within workday dreams.
The spark is dull, the once-bright fire burnt low,
Motivation’s embers flicker, faint and slow.
The keyboard clicks feel foreign as hands move ever slow,
Each task’s a mountain, my patience all but starts to go.
But wait, a whisper of Friday’s gentle call,
Just one more hurdle, then freedom shall stand tall.
A surge of strength, a final, desperate push,
That sweet release, a taste we almost brush.
So power through, though eyelids droop and sigh,
The finish line is near, beneath a clear, blue sky.
For Friday beckons, with laughter light and free,
And soon, this Thursday slump, a distant memory.