The Death of Liberty
Her golden torch hissed and sputtered,
when she toppled into the frigid bay
...but nobody noticed.
All the men in three-piece suits
had their noses buried
in the Wall Street Journal.
From beneath the icy waters,
she could hear them rejoicing,
but could only make out a few garbled phrases:
"...global instability"
"...crude oil going through the roof"
"...making a killing."
Soon, the sanguine voices trailed off,
and she drifted out into the open sea,
pulled along by the winds of change
and the currents of discontent.
Her light-green patina
shimmered in the cold, February sun,
as she floated up the North Atlantic
toward the Bay of Tunis.
There, Ben Ali fired several rounds
into her thorny crown
...but the bullets would not penetrate it.
She continued to float along the Mediterranean
and down the Nile... to Cairo.
There, Mubarak set fire to the sacred tablet
to which she fiercely clung
...but it would not burn.
The tide of rebellion had now shifted,
and she floated back up the Mediterranean to Tripoli.
There, Gaddafi put her in shackles
...but the iron chains would not bind her.
And for the rest of time,
her lifeless body would be carried along
by the swirling gales of revolt
into the oppressive waters of tyranny.
One early Spring day,
attracted by a glint of light
from her smoldering torch,
a passing albatross alighted beside her.
It began to pull and tug at the leaden rod
that had once pierced her heart, so long ago...
revealing a tattered cloth...
a bloody patchwork of stars and stripes
...hanging limp
in the still, morning air.
-----------------------------------------------------------
We need to stop supporting dictators, despots, and tyrants.
when she toppled into the frigid bay
...but nobody noticed.
All the men in three-piece suits
had their noses buried
in the Wall Street Journal.
From beneath the icy waters,
she could hear them rejoicing,
but could only make out a few garbled phrases:
"...global instability"
"...crude oil going through the roof"
"...making a killing."
Soon, the sanguine voices trailed off,
and she drifted out into the open sea,
pulled along by the winds of change
and the currents of discontent.
Her light-green patina
shimmered in the cold, February sun,
as she floated up the North Atlantic
toward the Bay of Tunis.
There, Ben Ali fired several rounds
into her thorny crown
...but the bullets would not penetrate it.
She continued to float along the Mediterranean
and down the Nile... to Cairo.
There, Mubarak set fire to the sacred tablet
to which she fiercely clung
...but it would not burn.
The tide of rebellion had now shifted,
and she floated back up the Mediterranean to Tripoli.
There, Gaddafi put her in shackles
...but the iron chains would not bind her.
And for the rest of time,
her lifeless body would be carried along
by the swirling gales of revolt
into the oppressive waters of tyranny.
One early Spring day,
attracted by a glint of light
from her smoldering torch,
a passing albatross alighted beside her.
It began to pull and tug at the leaden rod
that had once pierced her heart, so long ago...
revealing a tattered cloth...
a bloody patchwork of stars and stripes
...hanging limp
in the still, morning air.
-----------------------------------------------------------
We need to stop supporting dictators, despots, and tyrants.
Thanks so much for sharing with us today Kiko :] Hope you all enjoyed. Until next time [: -Nik L. B.
Wow, this is great! I love it! You always choose amazing writers to put in the spotlight :)
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