Blue lights on frozen avenues, the city holds its breath,
The biggest sweep a city’s known, marching step by step.
JD Vance flew in for favors, asking for the state’s right hand,
Subpoenas at the Governor’s door like notes from a metal band.
After Jonathan Ross fired, Renee Good fell where truth was seen,
A citizen with open eyes caught in the space between.
So Minnesota took the agencies to court to say, “enough,”
Protesters met with tear gas clouds, observers called a bluff.
Sources:
And the world keeps turning under heavy skies,
Where borders harden, fortunes bargain, and the cold wind cries.
If peace has a price and the truth is thin as snow,
Then hold my hand, keep your voice, don’t let the daylight go.
They named a next phase of a truce with talk of laying down the guns,
Of technocrats and rebuilding walls beneath a winter sun.
Ali Shaath at the table, a committee sketched in sand,
But bodies fall though silence’s bell was meant to ring the land.
Aid crawls where hunger’s louder than the thunder of the planes,
With banned hands kept from crossings and a ledger full of stains.
Netanyahu calls it symbols, turns his shoulder to the plan,
Hamas says it’s a small step on a road that barely stands.
Sources:
And the world keeps turning under heavy skies,
Where borders harden, fortunes bargain, and the cold wind cries.
If peace has a price and the truth is thin as snow,
Then hold my hand, keep your voice, don’t let the daylight go.
From gulf-wet pines to granite coasts, the air turns steel and clear,
A polar knife through farmhouse doors, the kind you feel in bones and gears.
Governors raise the warning flags across the ridges, towns, and sand,
Airlines bend their schedules, teachers lock the classroom vans.
Snow stacks high on quiet roofs, the South learns northern names,
Roads glaze over, breath turns smoke, the sky forgets your flame.
You listen for the radio and a furnace’s steady hymn,
While neighbors share a little heat and check on all their kin.
Sources:
And the world keeps turning under heavy skies,
Where borders harden, fortunes bargain, and the cold wind cries.
If peace has a price and the truth is thin as snow,
Then hold my hand, keep your voice, don’t let the daylight go.
On a mountain built for meetings, Zelenskyy cut the air,
Said Europe feels like maps and myths instead of what it dares.
Don’t try to polish thunderheads by charming a single man,
Send something more than token boots to ice and island sands.
He’d met with Trump in private halls where whispers shape the day,
Then faced the room and called for steel, for unity, not sway.
Not geography or history but a chorus with a spine,
A continent that answers back, not waiting in a line.
Sources:
And the world keeps turning under heavy skies,
Where borders harden, fortunes bargain, and the cold wind cries.
If peace has a price and the truth is thin as snow,
Then hold my hand, keep your voice, don’t let the daylight go.
Then a charter on a glossy stage, a Board of Peace was born,
Meant for Gaza’s shattered streets, now reaching every storm.
A price of entry steep enough to thin the crowded room,
With Rubio, Kushner, Blair, and Banga reading from the groom.
President says it can do almost anything it dreams,
Some capitals sign on at once, from deserts and from streams:
From Pakistan, Egypt, Jordan’s banks, the Gulf and islands, too,
Indonesia, Turkey, Saudi sands, and Qatar’s avenues.
Some hear a rival to the house where blue flags used to lead,
Some call it hope, some call it reach, some call it one more creed.
Sources:
And the world keeps turning under heavy skies,
Where borders harden, fortunes bargain, and the cold wind cries.
If peace has a price and the truth is thin as snow,
Then hold my hand, keep your voice, don’t let the daylight go.
A framework over Arctic maps, a handshake in the glare,
With NATO’s Mark Rutte in the wings and markets gulping air.
Tariffs holstered for the moment, allies breathe and wait,
Europe warned of breaking glass, of fractures in the slate.
The purchase talk of icy lands drifts somewhere out at sea,
Details murky as the fog that rides a winter lea.
For now the threat steps back a pace, the floorboards stop their shake,
But questions circle like the crows along a frozen lake.
Sources:
Yeah, the world keeps turning under heavy skies,
Where borders harden, fortunes bargain, and the cold wind cries.
But the choir grows louder than the sirens’ glow,
We’re the hands that steady and the seeds that grow.
If peace has a price and the truth is thin as snow,
We’ll flood the streets with daylight till the shadows go,
Hold the line, raise your light, let the wild winds blow—
We’re the storm that breaks the storm, and the world will know.
