Almost a haiku

I looked up at the statue, and it looked down at me.

There we stood, unhappy wretches.

If we get scared, they have us in their pockets.

If we don't, all they have is blood.

And blood is not a weapon. 

From what I remember, it was born growing.

It was born hot, expanding, glowing,

and the people were made of gold 

and of fire.

And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,