Forever Glory, if you wish it

Do you
Ache?
Do you dream of
Breaking
souls like
bones of men?
Do you dream of
kings and gold?
Things you sold like
chattel
were small price
to pay for
one single sour
hold on me.
There we are, swirling
like soup, like
a dust bowl
in rotting sterling silver
and you
hurling
Power in
milliseconds
per hour.
Do you
Break?
Do you dream of
Chaining
your aching soul to
History,
and wake
to shake stained
shackles on your wrist,
wake to wish
it was a dream,
wake to find yourself
explaining
in words no one believes
that you made a mistake
and it won’t happen again.