Object

. . . and there she stands, 
for all to see. 
towering sentinel of America's lands, 
symbol of the free. 
Her heart inside her chest is stone, 
her gaze is carved to set. 
But the idea that lives in her backbone, 
hasn't failed us yet. 
No one with foresight could tell, 
of this dark prophecy. 
That with cold stroke of hatred quell, 
(her proud bodice over Atlantic fell) 
her torch of misery. 
It bled for liquid flame in sea, 
that quenched the static fuse. 
Iron-monging light for her, Lady Liberty, 
put out by subtle ruse. 
Then crown of Hope lay on the ground, 
championed once so high, 
On the battlefield of terror found, 
no other battle-cry. 
Than the silence of gasping banner, 
of the desperate stretch of toil. 
Beyond the city's evil manner, 
her head lay on the blackened soil.

BLAZE