Little ers

there is no one this poet hate more than those little ers with power in their hand who would do nothing but sit back and watch as the world continues to burn in the fire there is no one this poet hate more than those little ers with hands full of money who sold their soul to build the empires that run on the back of the poorest there is no one this poet hate more than those little ers who have everything but choose the silence as a way to escape while the planet continues to cry out for help