I might be a republican but I love writing. Hope you enjoy this poem as much as I did writing it.

As I Stare Down

I take the last few steps up the mountain side and peer down on the luminous city below,
the city lights shine like the stars bringing safety to the darkness of the night,
you can hear the sirens blare out across the silent horizon,
horns ring out in response to the gridlock traffic.

If you listen hard enough you can hear the cracking of a broken heart and the tears of a
lost child,
you can hear the gunshots ring out and another person hit the ground,
you can catch the breaking of a windshield and the roar of tires as they speed down the
street.

A television can be heard in the distance,
another bombing,
it seems as though the wicked see no innocent,
that everyone is guilty of a crime.

You can hear the mourning of another lost,
the nightmare that seems to be the dead of night,
the battleground that is the city.

Now, as I step upon the ledge of the mountain,
I can feel a faint gleam of happiness and reassurance,
the light of dawn has reached my face,
the darkness is conquered by the light.

The dark night sky turns to the bustling light of a waking city,
you can hear the laughter of children and the squeaking of a nearby swing,
The television is now blaring the words “the Giants win the pennant!”

Nearby, I see the glance of a warm friend and loving family,
I know now that all is well in the city of night,
in the city of day,
in the world of my life.

A Lost Soul

The sunset turns the sky to a fiery red,
The hot summer breeze hits my face,
The air smells of cigarette smoke,
The overpass is bombarded with cars,
I can hear their horns overhead.

Places to go,
People to meet,
The same old same old.
It was all BS

I pull the bag out of my pocket and rest it on the torn brown box next to me,
I pull out the sterling silver lighter and lay it next to the bag.

I try to think,
I try to feel,
The words are all muffled in my head,
The colors stream across the landscape.
A rainbow of colors surrounds me and my vision is blurred.

All I am left to know is the whimpering of a nearby life.
The crying just gets louder.
I look down at the sh!t-stained floor,
searching for some consolation.
All I find is the needle, the pipe,
the same old, same old.

All I am left with is myself,
and the whimpering.
The crying of a past life,
The mourning of a tortured soul.

I look into the puddle in front of me,
and I see the source of the crying,
of the torture...

It's pretty good. I like it.