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
for the lamp that no longer
lights the golden door?
As well she should.