The Honorable Wish

Smelted and mixed, We are all men of the iconic furnace, becoming either a shame or a standard. Becoming another numeral behind the decimal point of the symbolic census that represents the me in we.
We are an alloy of blood and fibers, of nature and something that is strictly beyond the invention of the elements. Beyond the invention but molded still, we all invent each the other.
Pounded on the anvil I become.
Love is the hammer, and each ring is made complete to surround to enshrine to honor.
Hate is the hammer, and with each ringing blast, the sparks of lost compassion fall to the concrete floor.
Time is the hammer, and it rises and falls, keeping the rhythm of my funeral dirge.
Forged and pounded, I sold those waking days to the highest bidder. I can only hope they do not remember the men who owned me, but the steel sword and armor of linked metal which made them great.