Midnight locks click on the marble floor,
Budgets bleed out in a border war.
They want the watchers wearing eyes that record,
While the House stacks bills like a broken chord.
Speaker’s counting shadows, can’t find the line,
Jobs report waiting on borrowed time.
A nation on hold, humming fluorescent blue,
Between the oath we swear and the work we do.
Sources:
We ride the wire where the sparks still fly,
Between the open hand and the guarded sky.
Turn up the truth, let the feedback roar,
We’ve been here before, we’ll be here once more.
Raise your voice till the dead of night hears,
Hope is louder than the sum of our fears.
Curtains fall early on the river’s white spine,
A palace renamed, now closing its shine.
Blueprints promise a grander rebirth,
But artists are walking, shaking the earth.
Family ghosts whisper, “Remember the name,”
The symphony wonders who carries the flame.
A composer steps back, the opera bows out,
The hall holds its breath while the crowd learns doubt.
Sources:
A vault bursts open in a thunder of ink,
The law says show it, we finally blink.
Pages like storm clouds, pictures like rain,
Famous faces float through the stain.
No charge is tethered to the names that ride,
Yet some survivors found their shields untied.
Questions in Congress: how much was kept?
In the glow of the monitor, the nation slept.
Sources:
Steel teeth part just a sliver of light,
Ceasefire whispers in the sand-blown night.
A river of patients stares at the gate,
Only a few feel the turnstile’s fate.
Ambulances ready with engines warm,
Hospitals braced for the human storm.
Foreign badges help steady the frame,
Hope and dread speaking the same name.
Sources:
A drone finds a bus on a morning line,
A company’s workers caught in the grind.
The minister calls it a mark on the heart,
Another hospital shattered apart.
Yet talks set a table in desert air,
Leaders fly words where gunfire stares.
A promise to pause fades thin and frail,
When sparks from the sky write a black-letter tale.
Sources:
From Beetlejuice shadows to a creek’s bright glow,
She taught us to laugh at the tears we know.
A mother at Christmas, a queen in a wig,
Every odd note she sang rang big.
Screens dim low while the tributes climb,
Sketch shows bow and friends keep time.
Keep a ghost light burning where legends play,
Her voice in the rafters won’t fade away.
Sources:
We ride the wire where the sparks still fly,
Between the open hand and the guarded sky.
Turn up the truth, let the feedback roar,
We’ve been here before, we’ll be here once more.
Raise your voice till the dead of night hears,
Hope is louder than the sum of our fears.
Borders and stages, filings and flames,
Headlines like thunder, a thousand names.
But under the sirens, a stubborn drum:
We won’t go quiet, we won’t play dumb.
We ride the wire where the sparks still fly,
Throw wide the gates, let the wounded by.
Turn up the truth till the walls give way,
Let the dead be honored, the living stay.
Raise your voice, make the night ignite—
Gates swing open to the ghost light bright.
Kick in the silence, break down the cold,
We are the chorus, and we won’t be told.
