Needle In A Haystack

I found the needle Dad!
The mordant mores tried to stick it in my eye.
I morphed into a eagle, a bear, a matrix butterfly,
And flew through the portal of time.
Loves consequence of what you gave to me,
My twice blessed ticket a golden key.
Consequence, recompense in the lock of descent distinction.
Pietistic elite! She rans on defeat.
Where do all the whiggish go when they run?
To Hell with the digital funny money.
Consequence, recompence, this land of the mighty and brave,
Stave off the foreign master's despot desolation.
Remember yellow waves of past desperation?
History is a tall tale,
Hit-and-run a market swindle game.
I found the needle Dad,
And the thread of truth in so many lies.
The ticket paid with sweat, blood, and tears.
And me with no stack of my own.
Such is Rome and the pietistic elite.
She's still the apple of my eye.