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October 25, 2013, 01:34:05 PM by Dynasty[1up] in History

by Dynasty[1up]

So high is she above the land;
So far away from where I stand.
Compared to me she is a saint;
And all I do is hurt and taint.

Her deeds are miracles, her word is true;
Though at her side I cheat my due.
For I have wronged her, my shame is great;
I have defiled her through my act of hate.

But in her innocence, she doesn’t know;
That it was I, who caused her woe!
So it’s fitting now, my crime be known;
For I have sinned, I must atone.

And what I’ve done, I can’t take back.
For forty years, my heart’s been black.
So finally now, I bear the truth;
My act of evil, her mother's youth.

But to hear my deed, and show no ill will;
To show yet compassion, and love me still? 
To know my crime, yet not forsake?
This mercy, this kindness, I cannot take!

But at her request, most directly implied;
Reluctant and loath, I stayed by her side.
For her will is like that of the will of the land;
No matter how hard I try, I could never withstand.

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January 07, 2013, 07:21:52 PM by Dynasty[1up] in Poems

Here's some poems I like. Some are by me as well.

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January 07, 2013, 07:20:36 PM by Dynasty[1up] in Poems

by Grant P. Robinson

I met him again, he was trudging along,
    His knapsack with chickens was swelling;
He'd "blenkered" these dainties, and thought it no wrong,
    From some secessionist's dwelling.
"What regiment's yours? and under whose flag
    Do you fight?" said I, touching his shoulder;
Turning slowly around, he smilingly said,
    For the thought made him stronger and bolder;
"I fights mit Sigel."

The next time I saw him his knapsack was gone,
     His cap and canteen were missing;
Shell, shrapnel, and grape, and the swift rifle ball
     Around him and o'er him were hissing.
How are you, my friend, and where have you been,
     And for what and for whom are you fighting?
He said, as a shell from the enemy's gun
     Sent his arm and his musket 'a-kiting,"
"I fights mit Sigel."

And once more I saw him and knelt by his side,
     His life blood was rapidly flowing;
I whispered of home, wife, children, and friends,
     The bright land to which he was going;
And have you no word for the dear ones at home,
     The "wee one," the father or mother?
"Yaw! yawl" said he, "tell them! Oh! tell them I fights"-
     Poor fellow he thought of no other--
"I fights mit Sigel."

We scraped out a grave, and he dreamlessly sleeps
     On the banks of the Shenandoah River;
His home and his kindred alike are unknown,
     His reward in the hands of the Giver.
We placed a rough board at the head of his grave,
     "And we left him alone in his glory,"
But on it we marked ere we turned from the spot,
     The little we knew of his story--
"I fights mit Sigel."

by Oliver Wendell Holmes

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the God of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

by Wilbur D. Nesbit

Who hath a book
Has friends at hand,
And gold and gear
At his command;
And rich estates,
If he but look,
Are held by him
Who hath a book.

Who hath a book
Has but to read
And he may be
A king indeed;
His Kingdom is
His inglenook;
All this is his
Who hath a book.

by Robert Burns

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the broad setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,
Our race of existence is run!
Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life’s gloomy foe!
Go, frighten the coward and slave;
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! But know
No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik’st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e’en the wreck of a name.
Thou strik’st the young hero—a glorious mark;
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
In the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands,
Our King and our country to save;
While victory shines on Life’s last ebbing sands,—
O who would not die with the brave!

by Dynasty[1up]

I hate to say good-bye
Yet have to say farewell
But we shall meet again
Of that I can foretell

To you I wish the best
You have your own freewill
Though tomorrow is uncertain
Your loss, most hard to fill

So farewell, my friend, adieu
I utter it with pain
Farewell, my friend, adieu
In sunshine or in rain

Farewell, my friend, adieu
This day would come, we knew
Our dreams we shall pursue
For now, my friend, adieu

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river:
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

by an unknown poet

This life is but a game of cards,
 Which everyone must learn;
 Each shuffles, cuts and deals the deck,
 And then a trump does turn;
 Some show up a high card,
 While others make it low,
 And many turn no cards at all –
 In fact, they cannot show.
When hearts are up we play for love,
 And pleasure rules the hour;
 Each day goes pleasantly along
 In sunshine’s rosy bower.
 When diamonds chance to crown the pack,
 That’s when men stake their gold,
 And thousands then are lost and won,
 By gamblers, young and old.
When clubs are trump look out for war,
 On Ocean and on land,
 For bloody deeds are often done
 When clubs are held in hand.
 At last turns up the darkened spade,
 Held by the toiling slave,
 And a spade will turn up trump at last
 And dig each player’s grave.

by Thomas Hardy

Had he and I but met
 By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
 Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,
 And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
 And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--
 Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
 That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
 Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
 No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
 You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
 Or help to half a crown.

by Dynasty[1up]

Any place that it may find;
Nature sprouts, it's seed divine.

From crooks and crannies and cracks it climbs;
though sometimes getting stuck at times.

But farther and farther it stretches out;
Through faith and fear, through hope and doubt.

All this that it might reach the sky;
to just but touch the sun so high.

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October 08, 2012, 03:59:50 PM by Dynasty[1up] in History

I started playing UrT in like .... 2005? 2006? I don't remember.  :-\  Somewhere around there. I played off and on for years. I played on different servers, with different gametypes, meeting different people.  Then in late 2009, I found  the 1up clan.

The Xmas map was the first 1up map I played on and it was awesome. I played on it forever and ever. But I eventually got bored of it. So after a while, I gradually started playing on the other servers, mostly the zombie TS and Bomb mods.

I played on them for about a year/year and a half, getting pretty good at them. Afterwards, I then applied to 1up when a regular I saw everyday, Wargasm[1up], suggested I do so.

Now I am here and you all know the rest.

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