This poem I wrote awhile ago, and just tweaked it again. I thought I'd pass it round for comments and suggestions. I seem to have some problems with its flow, its rythm. So... here goes: "Revelry and pride at the mortal condition" The tide of seasons can bring me stains, marks, and brittle flesh; while losses behind me dot my path with sorrows. My campaign of armies will end in one. I do not grudge life to the ageless: Their endless perfection holds no value to me. Nor do I heed the calls of the envy of years. For me, the seasons are counted. My deeds are limited. The immortals can live forever. I waste no breath in cursing their name. To the hymns of angels I am no witness, I march to the rhythym of the footfalls of death. The immortals can live, and sing forever. We mortals can live, and die for God. Ian F. Brillembourg