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Simple Yearbook

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FC: Uncensored 2010-2011 Photos and Literature from Greeneville High School Students

1: Greeneville High School | Dr. Linda Stroud, principal Randy Richards and Beth Ricker, assistant principals A special thank you to all our Tony Feathers and Pat Hughes. Front cover photo by Baylie Foulks Back cover photos by Tony Feahters

2: Contributors | Austin McKee Adam Jones Alicia Goods Austin Perkins Averiy Shadows Baylie Foulks Brandon Metcalf Brandon Smelcer Briaman Whitfield Brittany Hale Caleb Spradling Chandler Christopher Chelsea Dykes Clay Southerland Courtney Alley Courtney Botts Daniel Epperson Desiree' Everett Dieter Woerz Dillon Carpenter Dustin Wilhoit Erica Bowman George Blalock Jacob Hall John Michael Hardin John Seaton Pilkington

3: Jon Mills Kassi Snelson Kayla Thorton Lane Richey Madison Ray Makie Harrison Mary C. Johnson Matt Mays McKenzie Smith Melissa Kessler Mercedez Mickayla Doeden Molly Kate Brannock O’Bryan Cox Paige Bible Rachel Schell Riley House Sam Justis Selena Orona Hernandez Shawn Salley Stephee Haun Tangleos Tanijah Miller Terrell Rollins Thomas Cox Toni Bates Tony Feathers Trevor Sams

4: and Austin Perkins | Photography Take a picture, make it last, Before the moment comes to pass, A place in time forever lost, Captured and kept is worth the cost, Take a picture, sieze the day, Before Father Time throws it away, Hold the image in your hand, Never to be lived again, Take a picture, in the night, Let the darkness be your light, For the moment create a an epitaph, And seal it in a photograph, Take a picture, make it last, Before the present becomes past, Never set that moment free, So image becomes memory... By Jacob Hall

5: Photos by Austin Perkins, John Michael Hardin, Thomas Cox, and Molly Kate Brannock

6: The Swamp I, Clint, was livin’ in the swamp tryin to catch a gator. Troy said, “RUN”, then I saw the tornado. I was in a swirl of a mess. In the air,I realized my time was up. Oh how I miss them gators. I loved the swamp. I’ll be missed by many. Now I say goodbye. Last words, “Chooot em”. By Briarman Whitfield

7: Vladimir Lenin In the end it was never about me, Because there are far more important things to work for. I lived and worked for my fellow workers, Who in turn worked and died for me. For years and years I planned and schemed, For one day I knew, the day would come When we would fight the status quo, And all the workers would then be freed. Soon the moment came, and I seized the day. “For peace, land, and bread!” I cried, and all the people followed me. I know they followed out of fear and fright, but in the end, I’m sure my experiment will turn out alright. By Austin McKee

8: Meticulousy Taken. Carved. Created. Controlled. Molded to form your wants. Desired to drift from the authority at hand. Stand. Fall. Stand Again. Pain is compromised. Pressure is flowing down your veins, waiting for a release. Captured in the heart, twisted into the bottle. Your mind is fading away. I’m disheveled. Broken. Melancholic. No words give me pleasantry. Hope has burned. Flames and Smoke. Smoke and Flames. The bigger the fire, the harder it burns. No escape. Further reference has been deferred. Time can hold the lies. Bursting forth with a new day. Hands held at the heart, no longer freely attained. Your idol is no longer need to free myself from suffrage. I am free. Kassi Snelson

9: Photo by Sam Justis

10: Pop-Pop “Pop-pop, pop-pop, I love you!” Probably one of my favorite sayings Of my dearest grandchildren The little munchkins were the love of my life I would do anything for them Going out to eat, swimming, and to see the lighthouse Barnegat Lighthouse, my favorite one of all Taking my beautiful wife of 63 years to see the widespread ocean Living a long and amazing 84 years is the best thing I could have ever asked for Laying on the white-sheeted bed, listening to all those scary machines beeping “What is going on?” is all I keep asking myself My darling and all my babies are on my side, weeping “Why?, Why?, What is happening?” They tell me I am free to go home I jump out of that bed and rush to hug my angels They are the most amazing thing in my life Sitting at home, was a beautiful feeling Cross-stitching and plastic canvas running under my fingers Listening and learning to play the piano I feel as if I am having the best time a grandfather could have in his life 2 weeks pass by and now I am looking at my children and my sweet wife from up above Watching them cry oceans of tears because I am no longer with them It hurts me, but I know that they still love and care for me Watching over them each and every day I love them even more with all of my heart Looking down at them, remembering all the great times we had together And in the end, it always brings a smile across my face I love you <3 By Desiree’ Everett

11: Photo by Tony Feathers

12: The Joker Making funny faces as the crowd begins to glow The lights fall dim as the Joker starts the show Drum roll hisses as the Joker takes his place For the whole world grins as they see the irony, staring face to face. The carousel of merriment flies in row by row As every man watches the Jokers silly show Sadly all they see is a shell Of a man that only existed, bought only to sell. The crowd begins crying, for the joke is too much As the Joker swallows a hairy toothbrush But all that he feels is a little more die Of sorrow and shame, of laughter and pride. The shrieks and applauds, all is well done Another dollar made, another battle won. For now the Joker must face his hard wall Fall into place, begin to crawl. It doesn't matter, Life's all a joke The Joker is many, truth is a hoax But don't let that bother you, you are too much As you sit there all laughing, irony is such. By Tangelos

13: Photos by Daniel Epperson

15: Photo by Sam Justis | By Adam Jones

16: John Lennon | By Selena Orona Hernandez | Photo by Averiy Shadows

17: Billie Joe Armstrong It started at the age of 5 I started to sing Not long after I got Blue, My first guitar At the age of 10 My father dies of cancer I met my future bassist and best friend, Mike We found a drummer and started a band, Named Sweet Children Our first gig was on my 18 birthday I dropped out of high school, So I could focus my time on my dream, Playing music My nickname was "2 dollar bill" later on we got rid of our drummer Stuck to find a new one, We find Tre'cool That's when "green Day" got started in 1990 I met my wife, Adrienne We got married on July 2, 1994A 5 minute ceremony The day after we married, Adrienne fourd out she was pregnant In March 1995, Joseph Marciano was born Three years later, we had Jakob Danger We wrote more albums And became the biggest punk band in the world. Mickayla Doedon | By Selena Orona Hernandez | Photos by Eric Rhymer and Trevor Sams

18: My Life in a Poem School Work No free time. This is my life. No time for friends. No time for movies. Work Hard Work Hard Work Hard That is all I hear. Grades above 90 Help out at home. “Toni! Toni! Toni!” They yell. They need my help. Who will help me? In the end, I Am Alone. No more friends. Only family, barely there. Only school

19: Work Work Work No free time. No time to live. No lived time. College College College. Graduation is near. ACT and SAT tests. Test Test Test. No free time This is my life. Day after day. Week after week. Sadness takes over. I need a life. Toni Bates

20: Photo by Mary C. Johnson

21: They Were Once Romantics They walk down the street with blank expressions, And only one thing on their mind, Their work, their pay, their first impressions, The only pleasures they can find, They've abandoned idealistic thoughts, Of lives that hold meaning, Stabbing their own broken hearts, With knives they're quietly cleaning, But they were once romantics, just like you and me, Taking part in passionate antics, loving life and living free, But now they're living day to day, living to work for their pay, And sitting at home with the TV on, forgetting dreams and moving on, They left behind their peace of mind, To work their lives away, Empty faces in desolate places, Passing day by day, They don't try to justify, Living for the man, They don't bother doing what they love, They just do what they can, But they were once romantics, dancing in the sun, Taking part in passionate antics, going till the night was done, They remember those golden years, where laughter overcame the tears, And everything was gonna be okay, too bad life doesn't work that way. By Jacob Hall

22: Dastardly Deeds The dastardly deeds we're punished for: Spilled your milk right on the floor, Dropped a rotten apple core, Didn't bother to hold the door, Stole some candy from the store, Walked all over the helpless poor, And got the pay you hurt them for, Why take less when you want more? Fell in love with a dirty whore, After she left you, to settle the score, You killed the guy who lived next door, Then your vengeance started a war, That filled the world with blood and gore, And when all were dead, and you were sore, Wondered what you were fighting for, The dasterdly deeds we're punished for..... By Jacob Hall

23: Sahara The sand is set ablaze by the ruthless golden sun, Cross the barren dunes, you are the chosen one, Oasis in the sky never shall run dry, Your journey of salvation has only just begun, Scarab scuttles past on black legs of steel, Scorpion sits and waits for another poison meal, An open sea of infinite sun and endless grains of sand, Press on sweet savior across this dry and searing land, Destiny awaits you where the sand kisses the tide, The sea before a land where dreams and truths seem to collide, Your Balm in Gilead, love, and glory ever waits you there, But till then you must breath in the arid desert air, You carry the priceless treasure of an ancient time and space, Forged and passed from golden hands of a forgotten race, Bring us the mystical silver, crimson, and gold prize, Press on even as the sun spits fire in your eyes, For our world is dying now, cracking red with rust, And in you, young traveller, we place our vital trust, For the magic of our ancestors will resurrect the land, You shall save our lives as you conquer the sunburnt sand, Let not the forsaken dunes of dry macabre hold you back, Or the hellish orb of light and fire blind and scorch you black, Keep your gaze to the horizon, soon your suffering soul shall find, Where the ocean caresses the sandy shores, and long awaited peace of mind. By Jacob Hall

24: George Washington One day early in the morningI left the house to sit under the cherry tree, One day I thought to myself What would happen if I axed it down? So I heaved and hawed and the tree fell hard My father walked outside later that day Said George did you cut that cherry tree down? I tried hard to avoid the truth, Well, in my head I knew what I had done SO then I replied that I had cut the tree down To set an example o the people They all now know that I George Washington cannot tell a lie Matt Mays | Photo by McKenzie Smith

25: There I was as a newborn baby I really didn't know what the world was about As I got older I gained knowledge Things started making sense to me In my teens I got more courageous and a dare devil I would do about anything and achieve it too People call me crazy I just thought if I didn't do it...who would Other kids tried to do what I did Most couldn't accomplish it But there I was Getting things done O'Bryan Cox | Photo by Paige Bible

26: Photos by Erica Bowman and Courtney Botts

27: Photo by George Blalock

28: Photo by Melissa Kessler

29: Can’t you hear her screams? Her cry out for help among the disaster. She’s crying out, hope has now faded into nothing. It’s died. Her soul is dying and she’s losing all faith in the middle of storm. Pounding inside of her chest, her heart starts to follow the music. It’s enchanting, and way too good for the time and place. Can it be real? Endangered by her surroundings, she knows no way out. Helpless and scared, and left all alone, the monophobia starts to creep. Suffocated. And her chest expands like a stabbing pain, breathing heaves. Mortified by the thoughts rambling and controlling her brain. Can she cease to exist if she holds out long enough for the wielding of fire. Plundering into the depths of a black hole, this is an illusion of her mind. Kassi Snelson

30: Photos by Brandon Smelcer and Courtney Alley

31: By John Pilkington | Photo by Mercedez

32: Coffee Shop Silent muffled conversations create a low hum under the mellow jazz music floating through the air... Steam rises up from the swirling light brown liquid inside my cup... swirling and spinning like a small hurricane of cream and sugar and coffee. Silouettes of people sitting outside shift and move, seemingly doing some sort of avant garde dance to the music... The boy asks if i want another cup. I say thats alright I think I'll just reminesce... Cars go by, but they just seem to compliment the mood... so many tans and browns and greys, almost a mix of sepia and black and white all together. A photograph wouldn't do it justice. It would leave out the mellow orchestra of jazz, automobiles, whispers, and that little hum you here when your in town and theres nothing else to be heard... like a aftertaste of all the sound in city sorta lingering in your mind... and it makes you think... what is silence? Is that even something humanly possible to achieve? Even when I am in total solitude and my head has become soundproof I hear so many thoughts chaoitically racing through my attention deficit mind.. Whats the difference in losing control and setting something free... its almost as if each is an excuse for the other... or maybe one leads to another... what does it mean to be free anyway? Then my train of thought is brought to a grinding halt as I glance at my wristwatch and see that it's almost half past seven in the morning. Its time to insert myself into the social machine and substitute my favored meditation with obligated communication. So I say goodbye to my modern-day monestary of the mind, abandoning myself. But I assure myself that I see me tommorrrow... same time... same coffee.

33: Photos by Paige Bible and Molly Kate Brannock | Commuter (sequel to Coffee Shop) As I leave sanctuary behind in the coffee shop I stroll down the antique urban street, bustling with traffic and rushing pedestrians trying to get there, the place that we are all going that has many names, such as work, school, court, but to some our final there is heaven. The one place that counts the most. It starts to rain so I spring to a bit of a jog, holding my fedora on top of my head. Black umbrellas pop up all around as the commuters press on, for no mere rain can stop them. I think of how for so many this mindless devotion is to something that they don't enjoy but are obligated to do for reasons they can't seem to justify. They are slaves to life itself, knowing that they are allowing their dreams to fall far behind them. This knowledge allows silencing depression to swallow them up and hold them imprisoned in their sadness. But I wish not to dwell on such melancholy thoughts, so I stroll on to my job, thinking of it not as a prison, but more as an outlet for myself. Something I can do to give my life more purpose. There are of course days that i wish I could just stay home and not worry myself with it. But I guess when I force myself to go anyway I prove to myself that I can be self motivated. As I grow nearer to my building I begin to mentally prepare myself for the day. Hopefully it will be a good one. poems by Jacob Hall

34: Photo by Thomas Cox | EPIC OF STEVE There was a bar and grill, it was called the Boonies, It was a big hangout for all the loonies, Who loved to drink and eat and yell, Hedonists, rioters, you know them well, Then one night there came a beast, Who turned the rednecks into a feast, With chainsaw hands and a sharktooth smile, Turned a party into a body pile, Well the beast kept feasting for twelve long years, For the local yokels weren't stopped by fears, Of being devoured, they just wanted to hoedown, The only cap on the carnage would be a showdown, Many drunkards tried with a broken bottle, Their feet gallumping and their hearts full throttle, But each met the same sinister, gruesome fate, And the Beast of the Boonies just ate and ate,

35: Then along came a kid whose heart was true, He had a sword and a shotgun too, But they weren't two weapons, they were but one, Because a combination would be more fun, Anyway, this kid, by the name of Steve, Decided he'd ask the Beast to leave, And if not persuaded by his corgeal word, He would have to be ousted with a shotgun-sword, But before the battle of the Boonie Bar, A skinny man jumped out of his car, He donned much camoflauge decoration, And a large belt buckle for compensation, He yelled, "YOU CAN'T KILL THAT, YOU PANSY PUNK! Your hair's too long and your blade's just junk! Ain't no one's killed that Boonie Beast! And of all that's tried, 'ur truly the least!" To this, Steve answered in casual tone, "Before you challenge mine, look at your own, You can't walk the walk, but in such a stammer, You talk the talk with the poorest of grammar, You're an ignorant slob who drinks too much, And I'm sure the cause of your words is such, So get in your car, and watch the action, As I give my gunblade satisfation," Steve strolled right in the bloody saloon, Whistling a spaghetti western's tune, Hoping this battled would bring him fame, Hoping all would know Steve was his name, He heard a step, and then a growl, The Boonie Beast was on the prowl, Then came chainsaws, evily roaring, Ready for the smell of sweet blood pouring,

36: The drunkslayer leaped straight toward Steve, With a screech more piercing than you'd believe, He swung his saws and gnashed his jaws, A cantankerous killer without a cause, But Steve was ready, gunblade in hand, With lead and steel he made his stand, Blasting holes, slicing limb from limb, Through cyborg sea did the swordgun swim, Then finally the sound of motors quit humming, And the rain of chainsaw punches quit coming, Steve stood upon the body of the Boonie Beast, That would never again in the bar and grill feast, The rednecks rejoiced, and without even winking, They rebegan their jovial drinking, And all the papers that people recieve, Told the story of Swordgun Steve, But then that night, in the jubilation, There came a whole new devastation, Out of the shadows came electric claws, That delivered trailerdwellers to electric jaws, And carried some away to the nearby bog, A place that wore a coat of fog, Where one couldn't tell alligator from tree, A mysterious swamp known as Ballabee, So cyborg-slaying Steve had to return, And the Ballabee Bog he had to learn, If he wanted to end the local bumpkin killing, And save the yokel bar and grilling, He waded through both marsh and mire, Till he saw a small campfire, Floating atop the slough all 'round, And then he heard a most inhuman sound,

37: "Oh my son, what have they done! My metal spawn, my only one!" They were the cries of a mourning mother, Cries so unlike any other, And then Steve saw through the muskeg mist, Upon noticing him, the mother hissed, And screeched, "You've come to die!" Steve said, "Death comes tonight, but not for I!" Though his grammar wasn't fit for prose, His taunt was just enough to close, The gap between he and Monster Mom, Her attack was like an atom bomb, He tried to swing and tried to fire, But she forced the gunblade into the mire, Unarmed, he resorted to karate chops, Sweeping through the cattail tops, His strikes broke through the metal armor, Of this maternal four-alarmer, Whose mouth had turned into a flamethrower, Reining hell on Steve below her, But each strike brought her closer to death, And before she could draw another flaming breath, Steve searched the mud for his Bilbo Blaster, Hoping Mad Momma Beast wouldn't find him faster, And find it he did, and with a deadly slice, He put the procreator of cyborgs on ice, As her body fell upon the slime, Steve noticed her son, humanity's crime, Repairing himself within the sludge, But unable to fight and unable to budge, Seeing this, Steve thrust his sword in the mud, And blew the beast from the bottoms with a thunderous thud,

38: His mission accomplished, his conscience cleared, He had destroyed all that could be feared, By the native clodhoppers, who drank once more, For the mechanical massacre would come nevermore, And Steve became sheriff of the Boonie Bar's county, Its name was Bieffee, a place of great bounty, And all was peaceful under the Gunblade of Steve, But not every evil had taken its leave, Fifty years later, Steve was sheriff still, But he was getting just a little bit over-the-hill, His back gave him problems, and his hair was thinning, But none of these setbacks could stop him from grinning, What could was a dragon that came to Bieffee, That burned all the homes in old Jeffepeffy, Some countryside thief stole its favorite jewel, It's name was Bigzilla, and it spit fossil fuel, So Steve was off, with gunblade in hand, Ready to make his final stand, For his famous flintlock shank was quite dusty, His muscles were weak and his bones were quite rusty, But there was still a bloodlust for justice within, Ready for a fight he may or may not win, But slayer's gotta do what a slayer's gotta do, So Steve faced the dragon of Jeffepeffy's rue, He handpicked a posse he hoped would support him, In case the next quarrel would turn and contort him, Eleven tough gunslingers, and Pedro, his best friend, That carried a bazooka and be there till the end, When they arrived at Jeffepeffy, the dragon was chilling, Taking a break from his arsonistic killing, Seeing it off it's guard, Steve made his attack, But when he lunged at the hell-spitter, he threw out his back,

39: The winged-furnace took notice and vomited flame, The eleven gunslingers left twice as fast as they came, But Pedro stood true by Steve's crippled side, And with his mighty bazooka, commited draconicide, But when the mighty Bigzilla's flesh was blasted apart, Steve took a tooth like a shrapnel in his heroic heart, Pedro dropped his bazooka, and cleaned Steve of blood, There Steve died in his arms, his last words: "Rosebud." But Steve's memory didn't die there in Jeffepeffy, A memorial tower was built in the middle of Bieffee, So all would remember the slayer and all of his kills, And when bards tell his story, it will give people chills, His saving of the cornfed and cyborg destruction, Until an honorable end of draconic induction, Forever a hero to those who believe, In the legacy and legend, the Epic of Steve. By Jacob Hall | Photo by Brandon Metcalf

40: Photos by kayla Thorton and Riley House | Photo by Chelsea Dykes

41: Oneda Foster - Great Grandmother I was born into a working family. I lived on a farm, helped clean, feed the animals. Cook and hunt. When I was 18 I met the love of my life. We were perfect for each other. We had 4 children. Sometimes I would get out my guitar and sing FOr the whole family Then my husband died. After that I met this other guy. We got married and lived an OK life. He had children of this won. After living together for 25 years he died, and I was alone again, but happy. When I turned about 93, everything started going down hill. I fell and hurt my hip, and hit my head. A few years later after that I just decided it was time for me to go. I wan not thinking right, and my body was going bit by bit. Finally I passed in my sleep, and don't have to suffer anymore. Rachel Schell | Photo by Stephee Haun

42: Photo by Alicia Goods | Photo by Lane Richey | Girl on the Steps

43: Daivd Goss I grew up In Missouri I moved to Pennsylvania where I drove a Wal-Mart truck For many years I had three children who I loved dearly. My son, Time, went into wood-working. One of my daughters, Debra, became a nurse. The other, Pam, is a teacher. My family started a southern gospel music group. We called ourselves "Tim Goss and Deliverance" Years later, my life was suddenly taken from me by cancer in 2010. Now I live in a better place. Shawn Salley | Photo by Trevor Sams

44: Daddy, Gone His tears, they melted With the pouring rain. His smile, it faded Never to return again. His eyes, oh how they sparkled In the morning light. But his sparkle is no longer there, Gone and out of sight. His song I remember most, How he sung me to sleep. How it cleared my troubles, And how I do weep. Now he is gone, Gone so far away. His suffering is over, But his heart is here to stay. By: Toni Bates

45: Photos by Brittany Hale, Averiy Shadows, and Mercedez

46: Mountains Rooted upon this moutain as I gaze into the eyes Of a serene man enveloping this breathless world with snow Upon this canvas that he paints a shroud of passion grows The crisp night air rushes into my veins as I feel the brush consume He splashes a frozen stream where I see reflections of the moon The oils roll down the hills to forever meet the horizon A flock of doves soar into the newly wetted sky To feel a rush of wind and freedom as the fog begins to narrow Forever they shall flock, forever they shall await the day The man puts down his brush and wipes the top of his brow For now the man must sleep and morning will resume I trod down the old worn path to where my homestead lay Tomorrow I will come again to this frozen peak Where I shall find a old man waiting to prepare For another majestic night, in the cold snowy air By Tangelos

47: Photo by Tony Feathers | Horizons Lies seek power and romance, Truth settles on ground cold. Horizons warm a gentle night Before men grow old. Light will bend, heat will flash Perpetual is no goal. Life among the restless trees Sways only the soul. Heavy the mast, strong the storm The only true end is death Judgement will pass with a call Taking our every breath. Faith and ambition, strife and fun Lead all men astray Why stay here, not facing the fear Wasting our time away. Hand in hand, shoulder to plow Beginning our bashful test Life begins at the back of the palm To seek is to detest. By Tangelos

48: The Moth The silver moth glides toward the light, And throws herself against its glow, This interruption of the night, Is truly an undying foe, "Put out the light, it blinds me so!" Screams the moth to the sun, So the sun sadly turns to go, So that the moon can have his fun, The moth floats on, she's satisfied, The moon does her no harm, But a thousand of her children died, For they could not keep warm, The grey moth weeps and curses the sun, For allowing her infants to die, And forever until her days are done, She shall flog the light. By Jacob Hall

49: Phots by Trevor Sams, Jon Mills, and Paige Bible

50: Life. Death. Love. Old people sit on their porches watching fast cars driving past them, They've always talked to Jesus but they don't know what to ask him, But they know He'll keep them company, even if no one else will, Because they can't stand the thought of being all alone, Children sit on sidewalks watching grown ups walking past them, They're told to talk to Jesus but they don't know what to ask him, But they know they'll go to heaven if they keep in his good will, Because thats the only thing they've ever known, The world turning much to fast to think we know its path, And God is much to quiet for us to ever know his wrath, The side effects of love are more than fatal in the end, But giving up is dying early before you can live again, You're sitting on the front porch thinking of everything behind you, The things you want to forget and the love that tends to blind you, You don't know what it is that makes you feel so down and out, But I'll do my very best to make you smile anyway, You're sitting on the sidewalk wondering where the road will take you, You're giving your heart to someone special and hoping he won't break you, And if he does you'll be quite blue, but to me there is no doubt, That soon enough you'll find much better anyway, The river's flowing much to fast to start a wildfire, Your heart is much to quiet to know what you desire, The side effects of love can be a fate much worse than death, But if so I'll say 'I love you' as I take my final breath. By Jacob Hall

51: Photo by Madison Ray

52: Photo by Tony Feathers | I Need Some Sleep Sewn the acres, sailed the streams Crossed the bridge of eternity Flew the flag, but never seems I stand the ground that falls Wake the man inside of me Turn on a peaceful tune Before we make our last mistake Lets go back and dance Sleep makes men lose their sight Upon the truth they seek Without they quiver with fear As the sight of death is fake Why not stroke the oar Why not play the chord Why not breathe the air For that is all we seek... By Tangelos

53: Prime Meridian Lets take a stroll down the beach The one we've crossed a thousand times In the dark we may tread only to seek A jagged line in the sand There we may look into the sky And behold the majestic moon Rays of light luminate the wasteland Driftwood and seaweed emerge littering the ground Tides heave the muck to and fro the sand and water The sea roars and falls back into its slumber There upon the horizon stands the sun Slowly awakening Fire slowly encompasses the world As the world begins to open its eyes for another day I stand here on this beach, On a jagged line waiting for the moon to return. By Tangelos

54: Photo by Mercedez

55: Kassi We met suddenly, Not understanding each other. Our friendship flourished And we were like one another. We barely see each other Yet our friendship stays. You’re so unique In your own special ways. I reach my heart to you; Better yet, my soul. I’ll love you forever Even when we’re old. You called me one night, Crying like never before. You were thinking of ending it But I convinced you to endure. Don’t listen to the ignorant, You’re beautiful in every way. Who cares who they are? Who cares what they say? I love you Kassi by Toni Bates

56: Photos - Courtney Botts and Chandler Christopher | Sundog Have you seen the light of day? Over the horizon and far away, Where demons roar and angels sing, And the golden sun is glistening, And when the light shines through the clouds, It shimmers like a crystal shroud, Then fire rains down from above, For war and peace, for hate and love, My God has made a magic that no one understands, It lies within imagination, magic in our very hands, My mind is blind, my heart is deaf, But my body remains numb, And when the devil whispers in my ear, My head begins to hum, Sundog in the cloudy sky, Starts to make me wonder why, Hate lives on though love may die... By Jacob Hall

57: My Life My life is very simple I work from day to day Plowing, disking, and so much more to day Painting the barns where our livestock has grown Staying on the tractor all night long A working life is not fun for a young man or girl But it teaches you how to work and tend for your Riding four wheelers are fun as can be Fishing is where you'll always see me Hunting the wild game from morning to dawn And helping my momma all along I love my life and don't want it to change How much better could it be? Dustin WHilhoit | Photo by Daniel Epperson

58: By Tee Miller | Gibson Wilson I would do everything I could to make sure my kids were never in need. Tanijah Miller and Sayvon Wilson were my life! Till this day I still remember the first time I let them meet each other, they were speechless and didn’t have much to say because they were so little, they didn’t understand. They didn’t understand why they were even together I looked at Tanijah and told her this was your brother she looked at me and frowned Although Sayvon was old enough to know, he still was overwhelmed with confusion Every chance I could I would spend time with them, because they are the center of my joy. But one strange foggy day, I knew something was wrong It was almost like I was a dog because they always know when things are not right I went back to my daughters place at least 5 times that day I hugged her tightly and told her “Daddy loves you, I’m here to stay” But it felt as if I put my own foot in my mouth, That day I had a wreck and went down a hill and died instantly Before I took my last breath of air, I told God To watch over my children and let them know Daddy is always there!

59: Photo by Chandler Christopher | Photo by Dillon Carpenter

61: Photo by Clay Southerland

62: Photos by Caleb Spradling, Chandler Christopher,

63: Tree Climber When I was a child, when life was but a dream, The forest was my playground, twenty five hours per diem, Childhood innocence with imagination conceived my carte blanche, For I was the great Tree Climber, both feet planted on a branch, I was too young to care a bit about the world's demise, Jubilation filled my heart and there was passion in my eyes, Passion for the flight of dragons of my own custom design, Passion for the fight with evil made within my mind, But my most passionate pastime was the conquering of trees, Scaling them like a monkey, swinging on limbs like a trapeze, There wasn't a tree that couldn't be climb, just had to figure how, The sky was the only limit, reached only by the highest bough, But as I've gotten older I've forgotten childhood fun, All I think about is work and how to get it done, But in a metaphorical way I'm still climbing trees all day, So in truth the great Tree Climber is still here and here to stay. By Jacob Hall

65: Photos by George Blalock and Makie Harrison, | The Game Early December, a very cold night, Ready to win, I put up a fight. Scratching and punching to pull out a win, I could not stand a loss again. Dying to win, to be call the king, Playing my best to put on the ring. Snow on the ground, fans in the stands, Even after the loss, they clap with their hands. Biggest loss of my life, I’ll always remember, A very cold night, in early December. By Terrell Rollins

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  • By: Jamie H.
  • Joined: over 6 years ago
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  • Title: Simple Yearbook
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  • Published: over 5 years ago

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