My Empire, tied to a chair

Lord Mangestu, with your hands behind your back,
staring out a cold window, lined with yellow and red ochre tones,
an earthy confinement,
it's time to slip them off.
You see, don't you, the harkening branches of late winter trees
that are to carry you strongly into the dark sky,
where the stars will rewrite your history.
You can step outside the hollow palace with vaulted ceilings,
into the thin, biting air.
What the road holds who can tell,
but let it unfold its story.
Start walking.
Your captors never were,
you are alone and all-powerful,
with the power to fly and the capacity to cage yourself.
Things are fickle, because you flit from momentary self to self.
Chew through cast iron and run!