Upon the Red Sea's troubled shore, with heart and hammer sore,
Thorn'd rebels rise from Yemen's depth, to test Israel's core.
Yet, 'tis not the Houthis whom we scorn, but patrons in Tehran,
From 'cross the dissevered world their ill-born schemes do span.
A token show of aid unwinds, a thread of silver spun,
To Syria's embattled land, beneath the waning sun.
Yet Washington treads gingerly, and veers from terror's blight,
An unseen dance on shifting sands, in darkness of the night.
In Venezuela's shadow'd hall, a game of power unrolls,
Seeking foreign hostages to satisfy foul tolls.
Maduro's hand has dealt the blow towards the dawning Trump domain,
An age-old ploy of puppeteers who pull the world's cruel reigns.
