{"id":8743,"date":"2020-05-20T11:29:17","date_gmt":"2020-05-20T16:29:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/?p=8743"},"modified":"2020-05-20T14:09:45","modified_gmt":"2020-05-20T19:09:45","slug":"capstone-chapter-one","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/?p=8743","title":{"rendered":"Capstone: Chapter One"},"content":{"rendered":"

Vol. 1<\/strong>
\n\u200bby Carson McKay<\/strong>
\nI remember one thing from preschool.
\nJust one thing.
\nI remember that adrenaline pumping,
\nVelcro shoe stomping,
\nFour-year-old heart thumping feeling\u2014
\nAs I ran from someone,
\nOn the playground\u2014
\nIn a high-speed pursuit chase,
\nIn the game of tag.
\nBut that feeling died,
\nAlong with our class fish,
\nWhen I turned six.
\nAnd moved to big kid school\u2014
\nWith my Lightning McQueen lunch box.
\nWhy can\u2019t I find that feeling anywhere?
\nHow can something be there,
\nBut not BE there?
\nI remember three things from elementary school.
\nI remember the difficulty of there, their, and they\u2019re, And I remember how\u2014
\nYour best friend won\u2019t always be around.
\nAnd the day he leaves isn\u2019t an easy one.
\nLife seemed to crumble in my hands.
\nThe same way a puzzle skydives to the floor.
\nNo matter how many pieces I picked up,
\nThere were always a few missing.
\nElementary school taught me the difference\u2014
\nBetween losing a baseball game,
\nAnd a loss.
\nSee, in baseball I could always practice.
\nI could go back and try again\u2014
\nAnd hope the next time is better.
\nBut no matter how many times you knock
\nOn a dead man\u2019s door with the hope that somehow your favorite person in the world isn\u2019t
\ngone\u2014
\nAnd no matter how many times a nine-yea- old
\nTells God he\u2019ll do anything to get him back,
\nGod doesn\u2019t bring him back,
\nAnd after I saw his dead body,
\nI prayed for that four-year-old,
\nHeart thumping, run-around feeling,
\nBut it would not,<\/p>\n

Come.
\nBack.
\nI remember six things from junior high.
\nI learned that kids will dig up dust–
\nOn any kid,
\nJust to hurl it at them like an avalanche.
\nJunior high taught me to be insecure.
\nJunior high taught me to bury my feelings deep inside–and put on a smile.
\nIt stole my confidence and placed it on a shelf.
\nA shelf too tall for a prepubescent boy,
\nTo reach.
\nIt taught me to be intimidated and scared of certain kids.
\nI lived in a world in which my only desire was to fit in.
\nAnd when that didn\u2019t happen,
\nI wished my feet would shrink back to fit my Velcro shoes.
\nI wanted to run that playground race I never lose,
\nJust to feel like I was good at something.
\nAnd now,
\nI\u2019m learning so much in high school,
\nI grew a little taller and jumped a little higher,
\nAnd I snatched my confidence from that menacing shelf.
\nI found who I was by searching in a hole in the ground, under six feet of hopelessness.
\nAnd I dug myself out,
\nAbandoned myself doubt,
\nAnd burned the ropes that once held me down.
\nAnd then, I walked away.
\nI found the person I could be.
\nOn a blank sheet of paper,
\nA sheet that waited fourteen and a half years
\nFor me to give it a chance.
\nI learned more about who I was from a sheet of paper…
\nA SHEET OF PAPER… Than I have ever learned before.
\nIt was something I ignored-
\nBehind a closed door.
\nSomething that made me… well… myself. And the self that I am is one\u2014
\nI never thought I\u2019d be\u2014
\nAnd it\u2019s one that six-year-old me
\nNever could\u2019ve seen
\nEven climbing a tall tree.
\nBut it\u2019s who I am,
\nAll thanks to a sheet of paper.
\nAnd in my pen and my paper, I found something greater.<\/p>\n

Something that immortalizes A human\u2019s nature:
\nAnd his thoughts… and his feelings… and his dreams. That playground run-around feeling
\nIs something I never thought I\u2019d get back,
\nBut I was proved wrong,
\nWhen I closed the cover\u2014
\nTo a two-hundred page stack of passages and poems,
\nWith my heart printed on them\u2014
\nAnd that was only volume one.
\nAnd then, I walked away.
\nI found the person I could be.
\nOn a blank sheet of paper,
\nA sheet that waited fourteen and a half years
\nFor me to give it a chance.
\nI learned more about who I was from a sheet of paper…
\nA SHEET OF PAPER… Than I have ever learned before.
\nIt was something I ignored-
\nBehind a closed door.
\nSomething that made me… well… myself. And the self that I am is one\u2014
\nI never thought I\u2019d be\u2014
\nAnd it\u2019s one that six-year-old me
\nNever could\u2019ve seen
\nEven climbing a tall tree.
\nBut it\u2019s who I am,
\nAll thanks to a sheet of paper.
\nAnd in my pen and my paper, I found something greater.
\nSomething that immortalizes A human\u2019s nature:
\nAnd his thoughts… and his feelings… and his dreams. That playground run-around feeling
\nIs something I never thought I\u2019d get back,
\nBut I was proved wrong,
\nWhen I closed the cover\u2014
\nTo a two-hundred-page stack of passages and poems,
\nWith my heart printed on them\u2014
\nAnd that was only volume one.<\/p>\n

\n

Photo Album<\/strong>
\nby Chad Greenway<\/strong>
\nGrandma dragged it out
\nFrom the long-forgotten depths of the attic,
\nOne afternoon in June, July, or maybe August.
\nI had found my place on the veranda,
\nWatching the young-ins play, fight, or something in the middle.
\nThe oncoming storm was betrayed by its scouts, who reflected
\nThe strawberry-banana sunset into my eyes.<\/p>\n

Hands, as withered as the yellow pages,
\nLaid the time-capsule in my lap as one would handle a bomb
\nOr offer a sacrifice.
\nThe cover demanded care,
\nWhich my hands gave without protest.
\nAs they turned the pages, time sped up.
\nMy life flashed before my eyes as I fell.
\nExcept it wasn\u2019t my life, and I wasn\u2019t falling.
\nImages of my father and kin,
\nStrewn out like seeds in the garden.
\nEach image held secrets and stories,
\nProtected by unspoken pacts,
\nAnd left my imagination to fill in the gaps.
\nShe did not speak,
\nYet delivered the message.
\nThe treacherous waters that sometimes separate us,
\nHe and his father faced before.
\nThe book was a peace treaty, even if just one army saw it,
\nAnd exposed the likeness of lives I thought so different.
\nA glowing beacon of hope in the otherwise retreating light,
\nReminded me, whether I like it or not,
\nWe did share
\nFeelings, friends, parties\u2014
\nA childhood.<\/p>\n

\n

The Hunter\u2019s Epiphany<\/strong>
\nby Gabriel Van Horn<\/strong>
\nHe awoke at 4:30 in the morning.
\nHe grabbed his gear and started walking
\nHeading toward the woods showing no fear.
\nHe was strolling through the woods to get a deer.
\nThe hunter got to his stand and waited
\nFor the buck of his lifetime to come out of the brush.
\nHe heard some ruffling from afar
\nSo he quietly stood up and waited patiently.
\nHe grabbed his bow and put an arrow in it<\/p>\n

Just to realize it was a baby doe.
\nSo he stayed where he was standing calmly,
\nAnd the buck of his dreams comes out of the brush.
\nHe gets ready and pulls back his bow.
\nHe is about to let go when he realized the buck was protecting the baby doe.
\nThe fawn had no mother,
\nShe had been hunted and tracked down earlier.
\nThe hunter who never felt this way
\nHad laid down his bow and watched them trot away.
\nDeep in the woods it reminded him of the beauty of life.
\nHe then had an epiphany that hunting wasn\u2019t only to get meat
\nBut to appreciate the animal who provided the meat.
\nAnd realized other lives have meaning,
\nAnd that meaning runs deeply through the souls of life.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cConsequences of a Lonely Conscience\u201d<\/strong>
\nby Adam Lorio<\/strong>
\nA sparrow calls in the distance. I always hear the sparrow at this time in the day, but
\nnever have I been close enough to see one. What I would do to see that very sparrow at this
\nmoment! It is on days like these–warm, bright, a call of hope in the distance–that I must be
\nsharper than ever. I must not become relaxed in the false security that warmth brings. It has
\nbeen four years since I lost my family, and four years that I have been isolated in this wood.
\nI know it is a Wednesday, and I know it is spring. I know little else about things irrelevant
\nto survival. I always loved spring, but here in this forest spring is extraordinary. The blossoms
\ntransform the trees into a flurry of white. It reminds me of winter. Winter has always terrified me,
\nespecially here where it is so lonesome, so cold, and always it has been so unknown. At least it
\nis peaceful, but truly living, truly experiencing life with its joys, depressions, fears, and resilience,
\nis greater than peace.
\n\u200bMy thoughts are interrupted by the snap of a twig. It was not a deer, not a bear, surely
\nnot any type of animal. Am I alone? Is there another man in this isolated place? Yes, surely yes.
\nIt is not maybe a simpler expression like \u201ceven slightly\u201d whatsoever cold, but I begin to shiver. I
\nsense there is a breath much stiller than my own. Surely there is another man, but with what
\nintent? Surely he is here to kill, to kill me. Surely. I take cover in a bush. I stare out into the open
\nspace in search of my unknown assailant. The trees tremble. I sit for what feels like hours.
\nPerhaps it was.
\nThe thought of my family tries to surge into my brain. I push it away–a necessary skill
\nthat I have mastered in these past four years. But still, the fateful freezing night four years ago
\nforces its way into my brain, giving me such a sharp amount of pain that I scream into the trees.
\nNo! Why would I shout? I\u2019ve certainly given away my position now. I am too angry. Angry with
\nmyself. Anger clouds judgment, and keen judgment is survival. The anger resonates within me,
\nburning with such a passion that I have no choice but to scream again. And again. Through my
\nfit, I realize the compromise which I am bringing on myself. I let the adrenaline take over my
\nbody, as I dive into the brook that silently whistles through the wood.<\/p>\n

I stay underwater for at least two minutes. At last I give myself the liberty to breathe
\nfresh air, and I gasp as I burst out of the slow-moving stream. The sun is blindingly bright, and it
\nglares on the white in the trees. I tell myself they are blossoms, but surely it is snow. Surely it
\nmust be winter.<\/p>\n

\n

FIREWORKS<\/strong>
\nby Anthony Hailey<\/strong>
\nExplosive, yet beautiful things.
\nIndustrial machines roll out thousands an hour,
\nBut in a child\u2019s mind,
\nThe focus is on only one.
\nA moment of pure magic–
\nAn experience that lasts long after the final sparks die.
\nA dance towards the heaven,
\nA world of imagination,
\nAnd a world of wonder.
\nYears from now,
\nWhen that child is grown,
\nAnd has problems of their own,
\nThey will hear that familiar boom in the sky.
\nThey will look up, and see
\nFireworks:
\nExplosive, yet beautiful things.<\/p>\n

\n

Ode to my Golf Ball<\/strong>
\nby Jackson Gilbert<\/strong>
\nMy golf ball starts its journey in a cardboard box.
\nThen from that box it enters the open world.
\nI place it on a tee all nice and pristine, without a scratch or ding,
\nThe beautiful spherical shape and dimpled surface ready to take flight.
\nI take my swing, not knowing where it will end up.
\nIt could be the fairway, creek, or stream, or next to the squirrel going up the tree.
\nBetter yet, if I am a lucky man, it may find its home in the cup.
\nI repeat this some 72 times in the hope of not losing it,
\nReplacing it is just as bad for the ball as it is for me.
\nAs I hit it with every degree, it hits the ground and then springs
\nTill its last final roll into the 18th hole, waiting for the next journey.<\/p>\n

\n

A Storm<\/strong>
\nby Cory Forester<\/strong>
\nA storm building on the sky\u2019s view
\nChanging its brighter colored hew.
\nDark and ominous, it invades
\nThe sky of such playful shades.
\nGrowing stronger and growing near
\nWith a heavy foot, its beat you hear.
\nEverything shatters and rattles,
\nAt once all is white, then all black.
\nDark, it\u2019s too Dark.<\/p>\n

\n

Six Feet Away<\/strong>
\nby Justin Echols<\/strong>
\nSix feet away.
\nSix feet away from those I love,
\nSix feet away from wonderful hugs,
\nSix feet away from making new friends,
\nSix feet away from people on the street,
\nSix feet away from seeing new things,
\nSix feet away from the birds in the trees,
\nSix feet away from those in pain,
\nSix feet away from going insane.<\/p>\n

\n

Shadow<\/strong>
\nby Walker Cunningham<\/strong>
\nA sunny Thursday afternoon,
\nIt was late at the park.
\nMy closest friend was longing, for
\nHe was about to part.
\nWhen I would look over at him,
\nHe would look back at me.
\nHis figure was familiar,
\nBut taller than a tree.
\nDarkness enveloped him and me,
\nHe made off with sorrow.
\nI now traveled alone, looking
\nForward to tomorrow.<\/p>\n

\n

Car Crash<\/strong>
\nby Walker Cunningham<\/strong>
\nLife is like a car crash,
\nNot a box of chocolates.
\nThe going is smooth,
\nThen, abrupt stopping.<\/p>\n

\n

The Buck<\/strong>
\nby Walker Cunningham<\/strong>
\nThe keen eyes glinted yellow,
\nThe footsteps were soundless.
\nThe antlers were rigid,
\nThe torso was great.
\nThe fur was graying from weariness and age.
\nThe muscles had begun weakening.
\nThe head was drooping,
\nThe torso was sagging.
\nThe buck lay down to rest,
\nEternally.<\/p>\n

\n

Pawns<\/strong>
\nby Lucas Bozeman<\/strong>\u200b\u200b\u200b\u200b\u200b\u200b\u200b
\nThe good-hearted husband and father is put on death row,
\nWhile an unknown cretin ruins a family.
\nA mother becomes a widow; a son fatherless,
\nBoth become burdened by battles they never saw.
\nRedcoats\u2026 friend or foe, all become the same.
\nYoung Boys treated as men in a game of checkers.
\nFighting Feuds for old men in powdered wigs,
\nPushing for an intangible goal, Sisyphus.
\nThe General looks at his army like Pyrrhus.
\nAll is victory in this foolish game of chess,
\nso long as no knights are lost\u2026 only pawns.<\/p>\n

\n

Life<\/strong>
\nby Lucas Bozeman<\/strong>
\nA tide comes in.
\nWill it be a Typhoon or bring about calm waters?
\nWhatever it may be, it disrupts the affairs of fish,
\nIt sweeps through the sea carrying sorrow with it.<\/p>\n

A bigger wave behind an ever-reminding symbol
\nOf what it could have accomplished.
\nFinding solace in knowing every wave will be forgotten
\nBecause, in the end, every wave breaches the shore.
\nThe tide goes out.<\/p>\n

\n

Beyond<\/strong>
\nby Ben Floriani<\/strong>
\nTime is scary.
\nIt cannot be touched, heard, tasted, seen, or smelled.
\nHowever, the effects of time can be found.
\nTrees become rotten and wither away,
\nOld civilizations crumble away to dust,
\nPeople age and die.
\nTime is everywhere.
\nIt is infinite and has always existed.
\nTime has claimed the most lives in the universe.
\nHumans like to have control,
\nBut time cannot be harnessed by anyone or anything.
\nIt cannot be slowed, sped up, or stopped.
\nTime should be our greatest fear.
\nOur time will end someday.
\nWhat will it be like?
\nHow will it feel?
\nWe have no control over our own lives,
\nAnd that is the scariest truth.<\/p>\n

\n

Through Other\u2019s Eyes<\/strong>
\nby Gavin Nowack<\/strong>
\nWe were all made different,
\nThis is our mark of pride.
\nI scream, I shout, I vent,
\nTo see things from another\u2019s side.
\nEyes are windows through which we see,
\nThis is the same with every and all.
\nBut the different things we see
\nThat causes our way to be,
\nIs what causes me to fall.
\nIn thinking of the ways we were made,
\nWe were all made from dust to which we\u2019ll return.
\nBut from this everlasting, loving, hating glade,<\/p>\n

We became different, and back to which we will burn.
\nThrough this life, we all have different strains,
\nAnd through these strains, we become distinct.
\nOur actions and thoughts may cause gains,
\nBut they could also cause stresses and pains.
\nThis causes me worry, and which I wish to extinct.
\nWe are all very different,
\nSo I wish to see through other\u2019s eyes.
\nHelp and best wishes, to others I have sent,
\nTo help them get over their Pride.<\/p>\n

\n

Anxiety<\/strong>
\nby Gavin Nowack<\/strong>
\nAnxiety is an abstract idea,
\nBut those who have had it can describe it easily.
\nAnxiety feels like you\u2019re in a confined room,
\nWith the pressure increasing, and the heat rising.
\nIt sounds like intense orchestral music,
\nThat slowly builds over time.
\nIt tastes like a spoonful of hot sauce,
\nThat heats up in your mouth.
\nIt smells like a foul stench,
\nThat increases as you try to move to a different spot.
\nAnd it looks like a frightening monster,
\nThat hides in the shadows stalking you,
\nWatching your every move.<\/p>\n

\n

A Little Bit Off<\/strong>
\nby Gavin Nowack<\/strong>
\nDo you ever feel a little off?
\nWhere throughout the day,
\nYou make decisions a bit differently.
\nDo you ever feel a bit off?
\nSuch as having no opinion on anything,<\/p>\n

And everything feels bland.
\nDo you ever feel off?
\nLike you want to stay in bed,
\nAnd sleep till the next day.
\nI have felt off before.
\nBut even though this has been true,
\nThe next day is normally better.<\/p>\n

\n

Why is This Hard<\/strong>
\nby Gavin Nowack<\/strong>
\nWhy is poetry difficult?
\nIt shouldn\u2019t be this hard.
\nA lot of people do it,
\nSo why can\u2019t I be a bard?
\nIf poetry is so difficult,
\nWhy are there so many songs?
\nIf it is this hard,
\nThen why do others find it easy?
\nPoetry is so annoyingly hard,
\nWhy do I even bother?
\nI am writing poetry,
\nCause I can\u2019t bother to write anything else.<\/p>\n

\n

The Gamer<\/strong>
\nby Parker Reinhart<\/strong>
\nEver so young, ever so bright
\nThe screen shining, the long night.<\/p>\n

\n

The Knowing Tree<\/strong>
\nby Collier Allison<\/strong>
\nOn a sunny summer night, the fireflies are out, the mosquitoes are out, and everyone\u2019s
\noutside having fun with their family and friends. In the woods the trees are swaying, and the
\nKnowing Tree keeps the fort down. The Knowing Tree is the tower tree that sees and hears
\neverything and keeps watch over his little trees. All the trees look up to The Knowing Tree and
\nfollow him where he sways, and they howl like it does when the wind blows. Every night this is repeated and during the day, they are calm with their leaves glistening in the sun and shining like a ray of the sun through the clouds.<\/p>\n

<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Vol. 1 \u200bby Carson McKay I remember one thing from preschool. Just one thing. I remember that adrenaline pumping, Velcro shoe stomping, Four-year-old heart thumping feeling\u2014 As I ran from someone, On the playground\u2014 In a high-speed pursuit chase, In the game of tag. But that feeling died, Along with our class fish, When I…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8746,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[359],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/liftoffnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/05\/2020-04-09_141017.jpeg?fit=2549%2C3300&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p3xfZw-2h1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8743"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8743"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8743\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8756,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8743\/revisions\/8756"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8746"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8743"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8743"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/liftoffnews.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8743"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}