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The Divide A prepper sat, as storms rolled near, With stores of grain, and tools to steer. He'd laid his plans in stealthy gloom, Prepared for when the world met doom. The non-prepper laughed and mocked his fate, Dismissing warnings, ignoring the gate. "Paranoid fool," he'd sneer so bold, "Why hoard and fret where warmth runs cold?" Then came the end, a bitter plight, Plunging the earth into eternal night. Shadows loomed, and chaos reigned, Famished screams, the streets blood-stained. The prepper thrived, his bunker deep, While others starved, without a reap. His family safe, his stores intact, Their strength forged through his careful tact. But the fool, once proud and vain, Now stumbled in hunger, wracked with pain. With empty hands and hollow plea, He begged the prepper, “Please, save me.” Yet mercy fled where trust had died, The prepper’s eyes were coldly wide. “You questioned all, you mocked my creed, Why ...
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