The Closed Colossus

Dispatch From The Edge

Once a symbol of hope for the oppressed, she now moonlights as another federal checkpoint—torch dimmed, expression tight, robes re-stitched with caution tape.

Her poem—Emma Lazarus’s “The New Colossus”—used to stir something in our national soul. “Give me your tired, your poor…” it cried. These days, it sounds more like satire than scripture.

Because... The Tired? We gaslight them. The Poor? We criminalize them. The Huddled Masses? Only if they come bearing crypto and campaign donations. Yearning To Breathe Free? Only if they agree with the Faux King.

What we once called “the golden door” is now a biometric turnstile with facial recognition and an armed escort. And while Liberty weeps behind her veil, we commission walls, deploy troops to our own streets, and pass laws that criminalize compassion.

I offer this updated version not as a joke—but as a requiem, or maybe a dare. A dare to look her in the eye and ask ourselves whether we’re still that nation of refuge—or just a gated community with missiles and memory loss.

A Re-Illumination

So here’s the new Lazarus, reluctantly rewritten for a nation that’s forgotten how to welcome.

The Closed Colossus

A Requiem For The American Promise

Not like the kind and welcoming dame

Whose torch once burned through storm and shame—

Here stands a statue scrubbed and cold,

With copper tears and iron soul.

Her lamp now flickers; we came with hope.

But found instead cold hatred stoked.

“Show me your papers,” she murmurs low,

While armored boots patrol below.

“Give me your tired… wait—do you vote?

The Faux King, your soul to devote.

The flag just right, recite the creed.

Are you deserving to be so free?”

Keep your poor and huddled masses tight.

We've quotas now. And thermal sights.

No room for ‘teeming shore’ regret,

We’ve children locked and fences set.

The founding fathers - Could they foresee

A time like this in history?

When power corrupts, truth is bent.

And Liberty's light is nearly spent.

Her welcome fades, with darkness nigh.

Instead a searchlight in the sky.

The golden door? It’s now been locked.

Unwelcome friends. Your path is blocked.

We’ve come to a moment where Lady Liberty needs defenders. Where silence is complicity. And peaceful protest is required.

This isn’t nostalgia. It’s a call to remember...and to act.