Easter Sunday Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Easter Sunday
Beautiful spring morning the sun warms his face
but he is not feeling well, drank too much wine
last night out of boredom.
He had wanted to write of resurrection but no words
came mainly because he is unable to believe
of the possibility, as it flies in the face of life itself.
Also, he was thinking of his resurrection, no one else
to start life over again and get it right this time.
His life had been a failure intermingled with hope
that one day, he would be content and successful.
Now it was too late and the coffee he had made
this morning had gone cold and stale.
He smiles bitterly and says to himself, you are
an angry older man unhappy and argumentative
and spends his remaining days watching cartoons
not caring about the suffering of the world.