In the cold up north, the buses pulled away,
After nights of sirens and candlelit sway.
Renee Nicole Good, Alex Pretti in the dawn,
Two names the protests carry on and on.
Tom Homan said the footprint’s getting small,
Body cams coming to watch it all.
The mayor says this surge should end for good,
Bipartisan worry knocking on the wood.
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Headlines hum like power lines in a stormy sky,
We’re walking that wire between doubt and why.
Hold your neighbor close, keep your courage high,
’Cause the world keeps turning and we’re learning how to try.
The last old lock on the war-room door fell through,
A treaty turned to echoes, nothing left to do.
The UN called it grave, a warning in the rain,
While Russia’s unbound, yet open to talk again.
A promise of a newer deal that widens who’s inside,
But without a line on limits, nerves are hard to hide.
We’re counting what we cannot say out loud,
Praying thunderheads will spare the crowd.
Sources:
Headlines hum like power lines in a stormy sky,
We’re walking that wire between doubt and why.
Hold your neighbor close, keep your courage high,
’Cause the world keeps turning and we’re learning how to try.
They moved the table farther from the shouting sea,
From plans in Turkey to Oman’s quiet plea.
Tehran said, keep it nuclear, nothing else in view,
Arab capitals whispered, don’t let talks fall through.
Washington’s wary, but the chairs are set,
With threats like shadows that we won’t forget.
If words can lift what sabers weigh,
Let the ink be heavier today.
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Down in Florida, on a manicured green,
A letter spelled the darkness that the world had seen.
The gavel called it evil, deliberate and clear,
An attack on the ballot, the heartbeat we revere.
A life behind a door that won’t swing wide,
With an appeal still planned for the other side.
The law stood up where bullets tried,
Democracy breathing, shaken but alive.
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In Spartanburg the measles found a crack,
A maternity ward, the line on a factory track.
Mostly the unprotected felt the fever’s claim,
Rise in shots as nurses call each name.
Detention halls worry what a cough might do,
And a nation guards a status it could lose.
We learned this once; we’ll learn it twice—
Community is not a roll of dice.
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A newsroom’s lights flickered in a different age,
Sports and books and voices cleared from the page.
They blamed the hungry engines that scrape the search,
While the guild cried out from a hollowed church.
Subscribers drifted from a golden peak,
And the boss took heat for trimming what we speak.
Foreign desks thinned where the world begins,
Who keeps watch when we box the lens?
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Body cams rolling, treaties torn thin,
Talks in the desert, may mercy begin.
Vaccines rising, bylines fall,
Justice echoes down the hall.
We’re stitching every headline to a common thread—
A promise to the living and a prayer for the dead.
Headlines roar like jet planes in a midnight sky,
But we can light the runway where our futures fly.
Link your hands to mine, lift the weary high,
’Cause the world keeps turning and we’re learning how to try—
Turn the cameras on truth, set the pens to the page,
Trade the rattle of sabers for a wiser stage.
From the ward to the pressroom, from the border to the bay,
We’ll sing it louder, stronger—let tomorrow find a way.
