Astrea

She lived among us; was the last
to leave us. She rained down justice
but mortals did not listen. The world
crumbled around her
and her wings took flight. She soared
into the heavens, took her place
in the stars, and looked down
at the corrupt world.

Her earth shifted
to destruction. The goddess of justice
shed tears from her eyes. She watched
men burn her advice, spit out
her laws. She turned away as women
sacrificed their maidenhood.

The star maiden
sees us. She sees the hate
we spread to friend and foe alike.
Her eyes droop, her hair has lost
its shine. Her fingers fist
at the bank robber, the masked thug,
the troubled teenager. Her jaw clenches,
but she waits—

waits for her earth
to strike back. She sits in the heavens
watching us, looking for the Good
Samaritan, the tender hearted,
the guardian angels. She scrutinizes our hearts,
peers inside the depths of our souls
but we have not changed.

The spark has been ignited, but the fire
does not burn. She blows the embers,
coaxes them to roar. She postpones
her return until that blaze has spread
to her earth once more.

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