The concrete forest cuts the sky,

Allowing black smoke to pour from its wounds.

When the shadow of the day

Crawls over the concrete forest,

The light of a million suns comes alive

In a blaze made up of a multitude of colors.

Below, bustling ants scurry on,

Hiding their faces behind mechanical smiles and excuses,

Much too absorbed in the suns they carry

In order to block out the world--

Oblivious to the cacophony that erupts

Over their self-centered bubbles of indifferance.

Unlike the ones that scuttle about,

I am aware of the discordance that occurs--

For it comes from the Banshee that screams from the rooftops.

Screaming, always screaming.

I block out the noise and watch the suns shine bright and free.

After the noise subsides,

I sit in the comforting arms of the dark

And look upon the concrete forest,

Wishing to burn away and feel nothing,

As immaculate 

And as bright

As one of the million suns

That light up the world as we know it.