KingPern

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Last Login: 09/21/2013 7:59 pm

Registered: 07/05/2008

Gender: Male

Birthday: 10/13

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Posts per Day: 0.09

Total Posts: 511

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the most ...., uncivilised and lethal species ever to inhabit the planet and looks forward to the day when the inevitable asteroid slams into the earth and wipes them out thus giving nature the opportunity to start again
Tony Banks - British Parliament

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Vincent the Troll Report | 12/31/2008 10:00 pm
Vincent the Troll
I made a thread on my other account about how the Bible doesn't say that Satan isn't Lucifer, the Devil, the Serpent, or a fallen angel.
You can come and wipe the floor with me whenever you like. xd
Vincent the Troll Report | 12/31/2008 9:51 pm
Vincent the Troll
Oh, right.
What's up?
Vincent the Troll Report | 12/31/2008 9:39 pm
Vincent the Troll
That sucks...
What were we talking about?
Vincent the Troll Report | 12/26/2008 7:46 am
Vincent the Troll
EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY as in Hey.
Got banned for a bit. xd
Vincent the Troll Report | 12/25/2008 11:56 pm
Vincent the Troll
EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
Heather_In_Octane Report | 12/23/2008 6:34 am
Heather_In_Octane
Imp potions, buy them in Skin Tyte
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals Report | 12/19/2008 2:59 pm
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals
wow i didnt even realize someone had even left me a comment that long thanks for letting me know 3nodding
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals Report | 12/19/2008 2:56 pm
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals
i like this new way gaia has of letting us know when theres a major problem it makes it so nice
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals Report | 12/19/2008 2:53 pm
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals
palm springs bit to warm for me. hey you remember that big old snow storm we got while at job corps right now we are getting a similar one here but this one is in western washington
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals Report | 12/18/2008 2:57 pm
Dreaming on Fluffy Petals
thank you very much so has it snowed where you live
 

Cold Iron

Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
"Good!" said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of them all."

So he made rebellion 'gainst the King his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
"Nay!" said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- shall be master of you all!"

Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,
When the cruel cannon-balls laid 'em all along;
He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,
And Iron -- Cold Iron -- was master of it all!

Yet his King spake kindly (ah, how kind a Lord!)
"What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?"
"Nay!" said the Baron, "mock not at my fall,
For Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of men all."

Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown --
Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.
"As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,
For Iron -- Cold Iron -- must be master of men all!"

Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)
"Here is Bread and here is Wine -- sit and sup with me.
Eat and drink in Mary's Name, the whiles I do recall
How Iron -- Cold Iron -- can be master of men all!"

He took the Wine and blessed it. He blessed and brake the Bread,
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:
"See! These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,
Show Iron -- Cold Iron -- to be master of men all."

"Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong.
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.
I forgive thy treason -- I redeem thy fall --
For Iron -- Cold Iron -- must be master of men all!"

Crowns are for the valiant -- sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.
"Nay!" said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of men all!
Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!"

Rudyard Kipling
 
 

First they came for the Communists,
But I was not a Communist
So I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists
And the Trade Unionists,
But I was neither,
So I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Jews,
But I was not a Jew
So I did not speak out.
And when they came for me,
There was no one left
To speak out for me.
– Pastor Martin Niemoeller
German Theologian
1892-1984

A Nativity
The Babe was laid in the Manger
Between the gentle kine --
All safe from cold and danger --
"But it was not so with mine,
(With mine! With mine!)
"Is it well with the child, is it well?"
The waiting mother prayed.
"For I know not how he fell,
And I know not where he is laid."

A Star stood forth in Heaven;
The Watchers ran to see
The Sign of the Promise given --
"But there comes no sign to me.
(To me! To me!)
"My child died in the dark.
Is it well with the child, is it well?
There was none to tend him or mark,
And I know not how he fell."

The Cross was raised on high;
The Mother grieved beside --
"But the Mother saw Him die
And took Him when He died.
(He died! He died!)
"Seemly and undefiled
His burial-place was made --
Is it well, is it well with the child?
For I know not where he is laid."

On the dawning of Easter Day
Comes Mary Magdalene;
But the Stone was rolled away,
And the Body was not within --
(Within! Within!)
"Ah, who will answer my word?
The broken mother prayed.
"They have taken away my Lord,
And I know not where He is laid."

"The Star stands forth in Heaven.
The watchers watch in vain
For Sign of the Promise given
Of peace on Earth again --
(Again! Again!)
"But I know for Whom he fell" --
The steadfast mother smiled,
"Is it well with the child -- is it well?
It is well -- it is well with the child!"

Rudyard Kipling

The Roman Centurion's Song
Legate, I had the news last night --my cohort ordered home
By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below:
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!

I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall,
I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.
Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.

Here where men say my name was made, here where my work
was done;
Here where my dearest dead are laid--my wife--my wife and
son;
Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service,
love,
Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove?

For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields surffice.
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern
skies,
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August
haze--
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted
days?

You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine an olive lean
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!

You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending
pines
Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines.
You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but--will you e'er forget
The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet?

Let me work here for Britain's sake--at any task you will--
A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill.
Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border keep,
Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep.

Legate, I come to you in tears--My cohort ordered home!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind--the only life I know.
I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go!

Rudyard Kipling