Ode to Oppenheimer
As melancholia replaced the jarring of my invention, I sat;
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Unable to breathe in the smog I had created, unable to stand on my betraying legs, unable to howl at the heavens over my sordid soul.
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In this inferno, I became paroxysmic, my self-hatred, superparamount, numbness dulling the agony of such a devilish act,
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An iron curtain fell upon the surrounding world, or at least what I had left of it to be owned by the laconic eclipse.
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All the angels fled, disowning my prayers, the aphotic world backed away, leaving me forsaken and detached,
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I could no longer hear the bombings, hear them fall, my own fabrication, only the dead air that came after, the intense silence.
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Cynical and paralyzed, I realized I had purloined a portion of Hell and given it to the unwilling Earth,
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Punishing those I had no right to punish, judging those I had no reason to condemn, destroying cities I had never set foot in.
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This is how I became Death, the destroyer of Worlds.
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Thanks again for bringing Poet's pub into the world and good luck with it all. You might see more from me for the Peace project.
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