A letter from a German god,
Did bring new players to the game;
Their moral thoughts we now think odd,
And nothing now would be the same.
Dreamt up by thinkers in their labs,
As a new way to kill and maim;
No one to question, or keep tabs,
And nothing now would be the same.
A naval base named for a jewel,
Presented a chance to proclaim:
That keeping this war on was cruel,
And nothing now would be the same.
Enola Gay took to the skies,
With Bockscar also taking aim;
Their cargo bore the stench of lies,
And nothing now would be the same.
When Little Boy and Fat Man fell,
Their death came like Autumnal rain;
But hotter than the depths of hell,
And nothing now would be the same.
Now I have become death, he said,
As Oppenheimer took the blame;
Three hundred thousand people dead,
And nothing now would be the same.
Hiroshima was first to fall,
Then Nagasaki felt the flame;
As death encompassed one and all,
And nothing now would be the same.
Their Shadows burnt into the road,
Manhattan hang your head in shame;
For the new face of war had showed,
And nothing now would be the same.
But history fell like a veil,
And now our children read their name
As nothing more than a detail,
And nothing now would be the same.
This is a Kyrielle, written about the Atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War 2, and written for Remembrance Day.
An audio version of this poem can be heard here.