In Minneapolis at a town hall, a voice on a bright-lit stage,
Calling for a cabinet reckoning, to scrap the iron cage.
A man rushed in with a syringe, a bitter splash of fear,
But she stood firm, unhurt, spoke on; the feds drew near.
They named a charge, they took him in, the crowd held fast and strong,
While President Trump cast doubt and said she staged the wrong.
A city aching from agents’ shots in a winter’s recent pain,
The mic went quiet, then it sang again.
Sources:
Hold your breath, the world keeps turning under thunder and grace,
Rails and runways, ballots and borders, one fragile place.
Some nights burn, some pens sign, some towers finally see—
Through the noise, we keep the beat of a planet, a we.
On rails through Kharkiv’s open dark, a passenger train in flight,
From western towns to front-line fields, in a knife-edge winter night.
Drones with foreign fingerprints struck steel and painted fire,
Lives were lost, cars set ablaze, the tracks a funeral pyre.
The president named it terrorism; no soldier on that car,
Peace talks whisper in the cold as grids go dim and far.
Railways trimmed the service back; the frost cut to the bone,
A nation counted names alone.
Sources:
Hold your breath, the world keeps turning under thunder and grace,
Rails and runways, ballots and borders, one fragile place.
Some nights burn, some pens sign, some towers finally see—
Through the noise, we keep the beat of a planet, a we.
In Fulton County’s humming hub, with boxes, dust, and locks,
Agents served a warrant writ, went sifting through the stocks.
They’re combing through that last big vote where claims still spin and spark,
Some shout retribution loud, a partisan remark.
The law says keep the pages safe; a lawsuit waits nearby,
Though audits signed the tally clear, beneath Atlanta’s sky.
The chain of custody unspools in fluorescent daylight’s glow,
Democracy auditing itself to prove what people know.
Sources:
Hold your breath, the world keeps turning under thunder and grace,
Rails and runways, ballots and borders, one fragile place.
Some nights burn, some pens sign, some towers finally see—
Through the noise, we keep the beat of a planet, a we.
On Capitol Hill a clock ticks loud; the lights begin to fade,
A budget wrestles border cops for room that must be made.
After hometown shootings by the badge that guards the gate,
Leaders vow to stall the cash until the rules abate.
One side holds a slimmer edge but needs a wider door,
Most offices could shutter soon while ICE would march once more,
On money kept from days ago; the roads and shelters wait,
For votes that never cross the gate.
Sources:
Hold your breath, the world keeps turning under thunder and grace,
Rails and runways, ballots and borders, one fragile place.
Some nights burn, some pens sign, some towers finally see—
Through the noise, we keep the beat of a planet, a we.
By the river at the capital, two birds met in the sky—
A jet with paying passengers, a Black Hawk passing by.
The board said it was preventable, a map drawn far too near,
A tower thin on staff and hope, too much left to the ear.
They found sick altimeters, old warnings stacked like stone,
Close calls piled up for years that never reached the throne.
Now push the beacons lower still; let cautions sing below,
So pilots hear the future shout, not learn it from the smoke.
Sources:
Hold your breath, the world keeps turning under thunder and grace,
Rails and runways, ballots and borders, one fragile place.
Some nights burn, some pens sign, some towers finally see—
Through the noise, we keep the beat of a planet, a we.
Across the seas a handshake grew from seasons of delay,
A trade wind loosed from tariff ropes to open up the way.
Machines and medicine, the grapes that turn to gold,
Cars once locked behind tall walls now rolling through the toll.
For India, cloth and leather craft, bright gems and woven dreams,
Find welcome ports and open gates with less at all the seams.
Students, skilled hands crossing too, and talk of shared defense,
A market stitched across the world, a bridge that finally bends.
Sources:
So raise your eyes—let sirens warn, not write the songs we sing,
Let trains run safe, let votes stay true, let halls hear everything.
From Kyiv’s night to Georgia’s vaults, from Minneapolis rain,
To deals that span the salted blue—turn the wheel again.
Beat the drum, light the lights, count us in on the downbeat now,
We bend, we blaze, we build—take a final, fearless bow.
