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.