The Modern Colossus


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Not like the quiet tempest of modest gain

with calming hands open woman to man;

Here we find the giants’ scheming plan

A mighty dollar with no remorse

whose green is a country’s suppression

and its name Father Corporate.

From his bejeweled-hand dangles a pitiful living;

his greedy eyes scorch the vestiges

of struggling helpless ants.

“Keep, pathetic low-lifes, your bellied groveling

Give me your hope, your education,

Your coward minds yearning to rebel,

the wretched thinkers of your future,

Send these, the trodden, ill-begotten to me,

I shine my greed beside the closed door!

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