The Same Old Colossus

 

   You sang your song of liberty

from a torch that dared

straddle the countries of

hubris and humility.

You giant woman

for the new  world

with your torch in one hand

a scroll in the other 

as if you deserve to hold the love that

 ignites harmony in posterity.

    Better to have left your hands empty

lyrics to be interpreted by

ignorant polemics believing

they have captured lightening

in the harbors of darkness.

No sea-washed sunsets to replace

the blood-dimmed tide of bigotry.

Your welcome is tainted,

You,  mighty woman,

have been sterilized in dead salutations.

    The poor remain tattered and wanting

in your air-bridged harbors

for the pomp you claimed to eschew.

Too silent this colossus

as the poor  wretched huddled masses breathe

filthy air of need as they shuttle

from job to job that further

sucks the marrow from bone-hard dreams.

   And you say she looks at the refuse

expressionless lips whispering

asking forgiveness

for the lamp that no longer

lights the golden door?

 

As well she should.