In a humble car
And arms ready to embrace
My eyes are mesmerized
At a marble statue.
Elevated, separated
From virtue and modesty
The cascading windows and flourished wealth
Laugh at me with pity.
It masks familiarity, equality, history.
As I enter, the countenance of a queen
Greets me with a hint of oblivion, lacking of care.
The blood that hugs her lips
The dirt that stains her eyes
I cannot bear.
From her pores drip coins,
The click of her heels fade the comforting memories
You have forgotten.
Clearly,
They have rotted.
As I break free of foreign feelings
I see the marbled back of the Goddess,
Chipped, stained, and worn.
Her eyes draw me in as if I would have missed her,
“They’re a rotten crowd,” I hear her whisper.
And with an elongated finger,
She points where I shall no longer linger.
Harmless Propaganda 