I once watched a documentary on Oppenheimer and the development of the atomic bomb. Many people were against its development. That film inspired me to write a poem.
Summer Snow
It was early summer
when the cold silence of our insanity
caressed our home with an icy fist.
When it happened,
it reminded me of mushroom hunting
as a child...
so bright, so many different colors...
but we knew which ones were best,
which ones were safe.
But then we grew up,
and the mushrooms grew larger,
and we forgot
how to tell the difference
between the good and the bad.
So the mushrooms killed most of us.
Some quickly.
Some slowly.
Now we all know the difference,
as men stumble in the daytime night
and burn in the late summer snow.