Bronzed

I won a war, said one;
I started a war I couldn’t finish, said another,
and we, they said, were cast in bronze…

chiselled in stone…
no matter what we did…
behind the scenes…
in the dark, so to speak…
it was eclipsed by all the good we did…
in the eyes of our peers…
after all that blood and pain was long forgotten.

I made my money, said the owner;
It was people I exploited, said another,
and we, they whisper, were put on pedestals:

the better for the huddled many…
to see us raised above them…
an example to you all…
lest you forget your position…
at the feet of greatness…
under the heel of it…
for what we did…
behind the curtains of our nobility…
we would do to you again…
all that blood and pain so easily wrought.

I made your money, said the small woman;
I killed in your wars, said the stained man,
and we, they said, were bound in chains…

taken as slaves…
punished by servitude…
tied by indebtedness
to your rods of iron and your usury…
and that is why we stand at your feet…
no longer in your shadow…
no longer in awe or humility…
and that is why we put your own chains
around the effigies of your limbs…
though you are as long dead as any…
and we are the living spawn…
of all you held indentured…
and that is why we cast you down…
cast you in your shame…
into dismal rooms…
out of our sight.

© BH, 2020

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An XR poets challenge - ‘compose a poem about a shattered statue’. Well, I didn’t break this one but still I pulled it down. In principle. Lest we forget…