/lit/ - Literature

I am Oppenheimer's river of tears,
running white and blue through time,
with but specks of gold,
that struggles to keep the peace, of myself and mine,
while forcing them all to grow along my banks.

Yet my river is far too shallow and far too wide,
it has pooled in place for far too long,
and filled with so much salt,
it must now drain into the ocean.
"The time for war is over."

As birds we once flew,
far across that warring lake of fire.
I beset you, my night's star,
teach me to fly again,
that we may lift the weight of the world,
as if it were a feather.

>>18198717
Can't help but think of Cassandra Peterson's white hills. 7/10