SILVER SURGE

From the depths where miners toil and sweat, 
A gleam awakens, unbowed by debt. 
The banks unleash their paper storm, 
Flood futures with a ghostly form. 

Shorts and swaps, a phantom tide, 
They cap the rise, they choke the stride. 
But demand roars from chip and wire, 
Solar dreams and engines' fire. 

The squeeze builds slow, a silver vein, 
Through deficits that twist the chain. 
ETFs swell, the vaults run dry, 
One honest ounce defies the lie. 

Mid-twenty-six, the gate will crack, 
The hoarders flee, the metal's back. 
From thirty-two to sixty-five, 
The surge ignites, the weak one’s dive. 

No fiat ghost can hold the line, 
When truth in bars begins to shine. 
Stack your peace in gleaming stack, 
The wave will crash, and gold will crack.

But silver leads the golden race, 
A people's fire in hollow space. 
From crash's ash, the realm awakes. 
The surge is yours; the power takes.