The Goddess Speaks

I wear the robe of sorrow as I stand

Seeing the hope upon the war-etched faces

Of weary pilgrims; for within my land

They will not find the winged empyreal graces

Of which they dream. I hear the muffled clink

Of Judas-coins within my portals, where

They yearn to enter. Standing on the brink

Of apathy's abyss. I breathe the air

Of chaos. By your valor bid me live!

Free me from foes within! Democracy

Can heal all wounds and spirit-scars, and give

The light to build a world-wide sovereignity

Of peace. Then lift your thoughts above the clay--

And walk as brothers in the Master's way.