The Way Of Peace (PRS, #2, by Screech)

What makes something worthy? Worthy of your time and effort? Love? Addiction?
What is it that makes it a higher priority than everything else?

Pretty Real Stuff: The Way Of Peace

Level 1: Perspective

To give up

was the first step.

To give in

was the next.

Give up the distractions,

the maniacal attractions.

Give up the dreams,

stop the tearing at the seams.

Give in to tradition,

the way of all perdition.

Give in to the waves,

of the ones running to their graves.

I still remember the last goodbye,

There were no words to explain the lie.

It was a bitter pill to swallow,

But no one needed to know the 'why'.

So I left the doors open,

and I left the hopes still hanging.

I didn't want to fight anymore,

for fear it would all come down crashing.

I felt the whole world spinning,

as I was lost in its translations.

For all I knew was hope, and,

I was far too missing in action.

From the star in the light,

I became the dark in the night.

I embraced it like everything else,

For I didn't want to fight.

I became a passive observer.

I became invisible to the sight.

Existing is the only thing I did,

for an insane amount of time.

Waiting dormant I learned,

many a thing from the world.

Perspectives were, what I realized,

the only thing that made it turn.

After ages of being so quiet,

I thought I could return.

But it ended up in an explosion,

it seems I still wasn't quite sure.

I knew,

I needed a different view,

but looking for someone new,

isn't easy for me,

you see.

I left it all to fate.

Let the wind blow,

let the water flow,

hope to find it worth it.

Level 2: Reminisce (Realist #2)

A lot happened,

and I got lost somewhere

in the chaos.

It was horrible,

the power just wasn't there.

I remember nights in the rain,

Just sitting and watching

the drops falling against

the backdrops of street lights.

It was the most calm I'd ever witnessed.

I remember days flying by,

With not a soul in sight,

as I was left wondering.

What had happened to the world,

Or was there something wrong with my eyes.

There are vague memories,

Of my time amongst fellow prisoners.

Some were there to make a life,

While others just struggled to survive.

It was a slow and suffocating journey,

I don't know how I made it through.

But it made me what I am today,

and for that, I think it was worth it?

I'd left behind a voice and a song,

Something that never came along,

Now I think it's all but gone,

Unless I'm proven wrong.

My words kept my fellows in awe,

apparently I had a knack for it all,

I thought maybe I could write them down,

Share them with whoever needed a hand.

But the war changed it all,

I was lost somewhere in the smoke from the bombs.

I still don't know where I am.

The dust hasn't settled yet, even though it's time.

This new prison has higher walls,

Because I'm taller than I once was.

The people here are scarier,

You can never tell who they really are.

My words,

I still write them,

but they don't seem to like them.

They're focused elsewhere,

They think I'm trying to spite them.

I need to leave this place,

The time is very close by,

I'll spread my wings and fly.

To somewhere safe and secure.

Somewhere untouched and pure.

Because the war, it leaves wastelands,

But life, always finds a way.

Level 3: Survivor

I remember,

an incandescent light, a smoulder.

It was the only thing I could see,

in the pitch black torn asunder.

The light gave me hope,

much more than I could ever ask,

though I never did ask.

I guess it's the nature of light to give.

I wanted to give something back,

Only to realize it would not help,

So I moved on, wishing it all the best.

I remember,

the stars shined the way at night,

and the birds led me on by day.

But whenever I wanted to do right,

I thought of the incandescent light.

I remember,

two different spirits,

Who found asylum in each other,

they inspired me everyday,

until they had to part their ways.

They still speak to me at times,

I don't know whether they speak to each other,

well it's not my business to pry.

I just need to get to my paradise.

I remember,

they showed me different ways,

they taught me I still had to learn.

So whenever I needed to move on,

I thought of the two different spirits.

I remember music.

Wild yet hauntingly calm music.

I could always feel there was something about it,

though I could never fully understand it.

I enjoyed it while it lasted,

sang and danced to it as much as I could,

because somehow I knew it was temporary.

So many I've seen, so many I've sensed,

yet I know so little.

The war leaves ashes in its wake,

But I need to rise above it.

I will remember them as long as I live.

They say to find a needle in a haystack,

you have to burn it up.

Then dig through the ashes,

without getting pricked.

My paradise awaits,

I'm sure it's somewhere close.

I'll need to fumble in the darkness some more.

But I know it'll all be worth it,

because I'll be at peace.

The Path Of War (PRS, #1, by Screech)

The one question I always end up asking is, "is it worth it?" or "was it worth it?"

Pretty Real Stuff: The Path Of War

Level 1: Pessimist

I see the world for what it is,

Greed and power and false bliss.

Built on fear and fake promises.

A mask on every face,

and a joker in every hand.

Everyone plays their little games,

Trying so hard to outrun their own chase.

With writings written in paradoxes,

Everyone speaks in riddles,

Playing their own tunes,

With promises that sound all too fickle.

Everyone wants the throne,

but none want to be king.

Everyone wants the scars,

but none want the pain.

Everyone wants to know,

but none want to think.

Everyone is left broken,

but still leave things unspoken.

It's all headed for a downfall,

And I'm gifted with this curse,

Of seeing it fall to pieces,

But I just drive the hearse.

Should I take hold, take charge?

Or should I wait it out and smile?

Should I be the one to save the world?

Or should I just sit back and enjoy the ride?

I see it's all headed for one big war,

It's like we've been knocking on hell's door,

I will survive this for sure,

But is there someone else who can hold on with me?

Level 2: Reflections (Realist #1)

The birds and fireflies still fly over my head,

Like a homage to the dead,

To the bullets that lie in their heads.

It's like the clouds came down,

From the falling sky,

Walk the path of war in the fog,

There seems to be no wind,

But I can still hear its howl.

Still I walk, blind and boldly ahead.

It's like all was for naught.

Like it had all happened before,

as if we knew it was imminent,

But nobody gave a shit anymore.

It's like everyone forgot

to feel,

to think,

to run with the wind,

to hear,

to see,

to wash off their sins,

to crave,

to lust,

to hunt for their love,

to hold,

to break,

to fight through the hurt,

to listen,

to heed,

to wait for their turn,

to bear,

to fear,

to watch the world burn.

Whatever happened to being honest,

I may never know.

All I did was survive,

through the endless torment of the war.

The fires and radiation zones, I have learned to avoid.

But sometimes there's something new,

An anomaly that I fall prey to.

Like the pirates or the predators,

Or the broken minded fools.

Like the ghosts of the dead,

Or the never ending ghouls.

Like the memories of the past,

Or the anxiety of the future.

Like all that I've left behind,

Or whatever I'm about to find.

Often I think "what if",

and end up with this conclusion.

The choices I made are mine,

and I'll face the consequences this time.

I've done all I had to do,

I've made it through.

So I'll keep fighting in this apocalypse.

To survive, and live my life too.

Level 3: Scavenger

Scoped in. Ready. Target in my cross-hairs.

It's a different one everyday.

It serves as food, it serves as game,

to me it's all one and the same.

My aim has improved,

desperate times I guess.

I'm still a mess,

I wish I was in my tent.

It wasn't all worth it I think,

Different times give you different thoughts.

I still don't understand what was achieved,

but at least I'm still breathing.

I had a radio that I kept close,

in hope,

That someday someone would contact me,

It was an open frequency.

I just wanted to hear that radio crackle once,

but it just gave me static.

I still don't know what happened,

I just did what I had to, even threw the radio away.

I've ended up scavenging on this dead planet,

I guess there's no more business to be done here.

It's been a long time,

the sun is harsh.

But I've got enough water to last a few hundred miles.

A hundred miles, an old chant,

Not that it matters, that world is dead.

I've got a rifle on my back,

and my pistol on my side.

I've got enough experience to make it through this time.

Will I find hope? Or will I find who I am?

Maybe all I'll find, is another barren wasteland.

But I needed to make this move.

I needed to travel onward.

Because I'm not static,

like the radio that I had my hopes on.

Pretty Real Stuff (Poem Collection, by Screech)

Hello readers, it's been almost a year since I posted here. I guess the reason would be the absolute burnout I felt after working on H-to-O... at least that's how I would describe it.

Anyway, coming to PRS or, Pretty Real Stuff, it's something I've been working on for the past four to five months as a spiritual successor to H-to-O, and it has definitely come out well, if I say so myself.

Something that always has intrigued me is the concept of choice. We're faced with choices everyday and we don't give them a second thought unless it's something really important. So I wanted to contrast some of the biggest choices that people may make at least once in life. The choice between war and peace. Now war and peace are merely symbolic here, they are supposed to represent aggressive and passive behaviors of people and what their consequences may be, but at the end how you perceive these poems is up to you.

All I hope is that you enjoy them, and hopefully it gives you some food for thought :)

Cheers... ScreechDrummer

Prologue: Pretty Real Stuff, Questions.

Questions, Quests, Goals, Ambitions, Passions, Dreams.

What do they stand for in today's day and age?

Are they merely words?

Or do some people actually dare to give them meaning?

The search for your goals is tiring,

it pushes you,

tests you,

frustrates you,

and sometimes, it breaks you.

Is it necessary to fall?

Some have said that we fall, only to get back up.

Others have said that if you fall too far, there's no getting up.

But is it still necessary to fall?

Necessary to face the darkness?

After all, aren't we looking for enlightenment?

And the light is much easier to see when you're in the dark, right?

All these questions and so little time to find the answers.

Sometimes it just comes down to choice.

Someone once told me,

We make choices and those choices make us.

But what if I want to know what lies ahead after I make both choices?

Is there time to change the road you're on?

Or do I stay at the crossroads, looking at the road less traveled?

Wondering with fear and excitement as to what lies ahead on it?

I don't know, I'm still a traveler, like everyone.

But I can dream... and I can imagine...