A Virus's Victim's Will

Arthur, last name withheld, was a Camusian soul and in his will
he asks to laugh at his death, and laugh
with no irony or remorse.
Ever wonder who created the plague and why?
A moment of discontinuity binding us to
our inner essence, the black hole sucking up all
meaning and loyalty, a
laughing stock of the world.
Happy to say happiness is an abstraction and
life is execution postponed. A writer searching for 
shipwreck of meaning is lost in his searchlight
bound for disappointment.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace