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.