Mother of exiles
The woman gazed at the Lady
She stared at her arm in the sky.
It was a hand pointed to the heavens.
Not grasping a crudgle or clutching a stone.
But holding a light that no longer shone.
She thought of the brazen giants of old.
Never defeated or welcomed in the fold.
She looked at the arm now rusted and worn.
It was supposed to have been a promise,
but she now knew that promise was torn.
The Mother of Exiles would bear no more children
But not for lack of love
As the storied pomp of ancient lands she sought to block
Grew anew in this land of her own.
She spoke to the New Colossus in a quiet and hushed tone.
“I’m sorry no one listened, I don’t think they can hear
They feel tired and poor themselves
And are still huddled in masses, but quietly out of fear.”
She stared at the picture of Liberty, the storied symbol of opportunity
She stared at the still silent lips
She stared at her linen covered hips
She stared at her crown that wouldn’t fit a king
A crown that points to others and recognizes their pain.
Her arms support a keystone, freedom in a book
Her eyes still convey determination with their steady, resolved look
Was her arm a little lower? It’s hard to say.
Her flame seemed a little dimmer in the light of the new day.
The golden door was closing, the Old Colossus wanted it barred
The tempest tossed are no longer welcome, whether from home or abroad.
The woman began to weep, her hands clenched in rage.
A deluge of tears
An ocean of fears
A ringing in her ears
And finally a resolve after too many years.
She tossed her whisper aside
She wanted everyone to hear
She cried out to the symbol of hope with her torch and her crown,
“You are still the Lady that Liberty needs!
You are still the Mother of all who have flee’d!
You are a woman! You still stand tall!
Please don’t give up, for the sake of us all!”
