Sky split open from the plains to harbor lights,
Deadliest winter in years, grounding hopes and flights.
Half the map went dark, the South shivered without flame,
New York buried deep, Texas wept a family’s name.
An airline swore it’s the worst in its long-told lore,
Emergencies signed, and the cold will come once more—
Another wall of ice, a breath older than our age,
We brace the frozen drum, we rage against the gauge.
Sources:
Cold fronts, hot wires, thunder in our veins,
From runways, ruins, and roundtables, we shoulder all the strain.
Hold on, hold on, through the blackout and the blaze—
If the world is on a fault line, we’ll learn to ride the waves.
Night birds of iron tore the grid from a northern heart,
Homes, a school, a cradle—ripped and torn apart.
In Kyiv, sacred stone was wounded under fire,
Odesa woke to sirens, smoke, a choir.
Shields are thinning, says the watchman of the West,
Send the bolts, reload the sky, give weary cities rest.
Talks may spark next month, ash drifting over steel—
Between the chime of hope and thunder, tell me what is real.
Sources:
Cold fronts, hot wires, thunder in our veins,
From runways, ruins, and roundtables, we shoulder all the strain.
Hold on, hold on, through the blackout and the blaze—
If the world is on a fault line, we’ll learn to ride the waves.
Clock on the Hill ticks toward a shuttered door,
A standoff over borders and the badge we ask to roar.
After sirens in Minneapolis, a new demand is cast,
Change the way we hold the keys, or nothing’s getting passed.
One side says, split the load; the other says, not yet,
Agencies on edge while storms delay the bet.
Homeland keeps its engines warm, the rest might stall and wait—
A nation counting seconds at a locked and lonely gate.
Sources:
Across the ocean’s echo, two giants shake their hands,
A pact long in the making reshapes the trade of lands.
Tariffs fall like old walls—cars, machines, and meds,
New doors for ships and ledgers where Europe treads.
They call it “mother of all,” a map redrawn and wide,
A hedge against the tariff squalls, supply lines set to glide.
Not just a market opened, but a signal through the din:
When storms hit every border, partners learn to lean.
Sources:
Cold fronts, hot wires, thunder in our veins,
From runways, ruins, and roundtables, we shoulder all the strain.
Hold on, hold on, through the blackout and the blaze—
If the world is on a fault line, we’ll learn to ride the waves.
Raise a quiet fist for Foege, a compass in the dark,
Who drew a ring around a flame and smothered death’s own spark.
From the Centers’ helm to Carter’s call, to Gates that opened wide,
A medal on his chest, but the saved are his pride.
They called him public health’s home run into the sun,
Smallpox folded like a specter told that it was done.
A task force carried onward what his steady vision saw—
In every scar that didn’t form, we hear his living law.
Sources:
In the datacenter dawn, a titan fuels the forge,
Backs a specialist to scale the racks where futures surge.
By decade’s end they aim to raise cathedrals of compute,
But power, land, and copper lines decide which dreams take root.
An alt to towering clouds for workloads built on flame,
Capital and roadmaps steer where the next platforms land their name.
The grid hums hard, the fans kick high, the night glows neon green—
When the bottlenecks are iron, only thunder makes them lean.
Sources:
Cold fronts, hot wires, thunder in our veins,
From runways, ruins, and roundtables, we shoulder all the strain.
Hold on, hold on, through the blackout and the blaze—
If the world is on a fault line, we’ll learn to ride the waves.
Let the sirens fade, let the engines roar,
We’ll stitch the sky with signal and drag the dawn ashore.
From the frostbit street to the server’s roar inside,
We bend the steel of fortune—together, we collide.
Cold fronts, hot wires—strike the chord and draw the spark,
We are the light that answers when the world goes dark.
