In my youth I was a warrior,
led by my duty often to the brink,
led many times to water,
till I finally refused to drink.

I have met bullets halfway
in dark days past,
when the measure of a man
was how well he died
and not how long he'd last.

I was immortal then.
In the impossible jungles
and stagnant streams,
on the bloodied streets
of Lebanon's proudest jewel,
among the Irish ghosts
who screamed in voices
Gaelic, sharp, and gruff,
that none may live upon these streets,
who does not love fair Ireland enough.

Immortality breeds contempt
in humble men
and breeds hatred in the weak.
It feeds the arrogance
of youthful souls
who never search or seek,
not knowing immortality
lasts only till they die
and leaves unanswered
Life's great question,
that loud, resounding "Why?"

When mortality knocked,
I welcomed it as friend
and put aside my tools of war.
I put aside my useless guilt
and let anger fade away.
I chose which world to occupy,
which future to pursue.
There is a truth that I have learned,
that to the young I give,
immortality be damned,
my child,
for only mortals live.