The Helpers
We are the helpers, the healers, the hands, Racing through fire and drought-shattered lands.We rush to the breach, through smoke and flame, To burn where needed to mend the earth’s pain.Others feed the hungry, and mend the weak, Showing no fear when the sirens speak.Who will rise when the sirens call? Who will stand when the embers fall?Yet as the world burns, they hoard their gold, DOGEbag sycophants, callous and cold. They scoff at service, mock our toil, Yet grow their wealth from stolen soil.They’ve never known a sleepless night, watched their child’s wailing as they slip from sight. They count their billions, dodge their dues, While we break our bodies, and lovers lose.Yet they speak of “cuts” and “efficiency,” While our numbers shrink, lost to history. They slash our ranks, then feign surprise, As firestorms rage beneath blackened skies.They'd rather flee to Mars and play, Than lift a hand or earn their stay. They pump their crypto, sell their schemes, Then laugh while stealing workers' dreams.But storms are brewing, winds will rise, No bunker saves the ones who lie. And when the fires take their due, they deserve no one to pull them through.February 16, 2025 Seven Commandos Beach, Parawan, The Phillipenes