To the Others Who Create Shade for Me

The others who create shade for me,
the sacrificial beings,
the ones who work until hands bleed
to spare my comfort and feelings,
the ones who worked for years
to give me better than they had,
who worked the worst of the jobs
that most times drove them mad,
the ones who wore the bruises
their dedication earned them
to fight for the life I was gifted
and could never repay them for this gem,
the ones whose hands cannot
any longer bend fingers to grab
with strength the years have robbed
leaving them weak, nothing left of what they had,
the ones whose callous hands scream
for a respite from the torturous grind,
that prison that allows the opportunity
for freedom for my mind
and the freedom to embrace the realization
that if it weren't for their slaving, their wrought
none of this would have ever happened
with all of my dreams being for not.