Inspired by my trip to New York and the Lady.

There she stands, holding her torch towards the sky.

For eons, it seems, she's stood tall, a beacon for the world at large.

She never trembles, never wavers—

She is an island, greeting everyone, no matter skin or age.

Wars come and wars go—yet she never weeps.

Her light never wavers or falters;

She still beams into the night.

She hears the wailing of families across the world

And beckons, a fortress against despair.

Come to me, she says. It'll be alright, I swear.

The war to end all wars and its sequel,

Vietnam, Korea, Cuban missiles, and still more—

Through it all, she stood tall, sad, of course,

But never weary, never despairing.

All could look to her for strength.

Then came September.

And Lady Liberty fell to her knees, head bowed, beaten down.

The next day, she climbed to her feet, raised her torch, and lit up the sky.

Bloody tears flowed down her cheeks,

And still she stood strong.

I am beaten, she declared, not broken.

I am wounded, she shouted, not dead.

I am Liberty, she whispered, and it resounded through the world,

And I shall shine on.

And she holds her torch to the sky.