Her eyes were too bright, too sparkling with vigor.

Her mouth was too firm, words too filled with rigor.

Too clearly her voice rang, too proudly she paced,

And slothful incompetents' cloakings displaced,

Destroying excuse after cowering plea

On why they could not be as splendid as she.

Too keen were her insights for folly to stand,

Infringing on despots' defeated command.

And so did the rabble and tyrants combined,

Endeavor to urgently put out her mind.

They rationed the services, strangled the trade,

They gave to the needy and drew from the made,

Their minions all followed and blindly they gave,

To get in return a public-bought grave.

The land that she bore, where she served as defender,

Cast her from its gates at the height of her splendor.

The Mistress of Justice, of Progress the Queen

An errant became, to wander unseen

As blizzards of anarchy punctured her face,

And odors of decadence spread everyplace,

While bureaucrats snugly narrowed their noose

And barbarous fanatics remained on the loose.

What place has she found, her reign to rekindle?

What will be her bastion, when ours now does dwindle?

Where are the clear-thinkers to brighten her court?

Where are the machines to safeguard her fort?

Where can we unite, her struggle my own,

To reclaim her rightfully owned cosmic throne?

Learn more about this author, G. Stolyarov II.
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