Neon hum in a silent newsroom, chairs left cold on the floor,
Sports and stories packed in boxes, the books aren’t turning anymore.
Local lines go faint and foreign windows close,
The daily voice goes quiet, and the headline never knows.
Days later the captain quits, the CFO takes the wheel,
The guild cries, “This was a choice,” not some iron fate of steel.
An old editor points at the tower, at bets that went astray,
No nod before the last election, and readers walked away.
Sources:
We’re living on deadlines and fault lines,
Ink runs with heart and with rage.
War drums, closed doors, and bright signs,
Turn up the truth on the stage.
If they cut the wire, we’ll sing louder,
If they burn the bridge, we’ll build prouder—
On deadlines and fault lines,
We won’t fade with the page.
In the desert the table waited, Abu Dhabi heat in the air,
No grand unraveling of knots, but a trade of lives proved care.
June hangs like a quiet thunder, a clock above the lines,
Miami whispers next steps, as the break keeps out of sight.
One side says, “Leave the Donbas,” the other says, “Not a chance,”
Maps and sorrow face each other in a stalemate’s broken dance.
Sources:
We’re living on deadlines and fault lines,
Ink runs with heart and with rage.
War drums, closed doors, and bright signs,
Turn up the truth on the stage.
If they cut the wire, we’ll sing louder,
If they burn the bridge, we’ll build prouder—
On deadlines and fault lines,
We won’t fade with the page.
A strategist drops the pen, takes the heat for a call gone wrong,
He pushed a name for Washington, but the shadows were too long.
Says it stained the party colors, trust dragged through the mire,
Old emails lit like matches, and the raids fanned the fire.
He’d been the architect of victory, now the exit signs all glow,
When the past pulls hard on power, even allies have to go.
Sources:
Across the water, Oman listens, words pass wall to wall,
Tehran says, “It’s a good start,” Washington says, “Stand tall.”
An envoy pair and a watchful admiral, steel humming in the bay,
Talks like tinder in a windstorm, will it spark or blow away?
Fears of thunder on the runway, but the chorus holds its breath,
If the door stays cracked a heartbeat, maybe we outwalk death.
Sources:
We’re living on deadlines and fault lines,
Ink runs with heart and with rage.
War drums, closed doors, and bright signs,
Turn up the truth on the stage.
If they cut the wire, we’ll sing louder,
If they burn the bridge, we’ll build prouder—
On deadlines and fault lines,
We won’t fade with the page.
The War Department slams a gate, says the crimson’s lost its way,
A diploma tossed like a gauntlet from a long-remembered day.
“Too much hate for home,” the charge, as the campus takes the stand,
Courts have weighed the scorecards, and the school has held its land.
A fortune’s on the table to turn the funding spout,
While other towers brace for judgment, waiting for the shout.
Sources:
Pink slips stack like storm clouds, the hardest winter in years,
Blame the contracts turned to smoke and markets bent by fears.
Restructures cut to bone and code eats jobs for lunch,
Tariffs, borders, cold decisions—hiring’s lost its punch.
A trickle where a river ran, the help-wanted signs grow dim,
Machines are learning melodies while workers lose the hymn.
Sources:
We’re living on deadlines and fault lines,
Ink runs with heart and with rage.
War drums, closed doors, and bright signs,
Turn up the truth on the stage.
If they cut the wire, we’ll sing louder,
If they burn the bridge, we’ll build prouder—
On deadlines and fault lines,
We won’t fade with the page.
Hit the lights, shake the rafters, let the headlines quake,
Beat the drums till the power-walls crack and wake.
From the pressroom to the picket line, from Muscat to the quay—
Our voices are the deadline they can’t break, can’t break, can’t break!
