Restless Souls

This is a poem inspired by the loss of a good friend, Steven, a few weeks ago. He passed away at age 18, on June 14th. He will be missed by many.

I spent quite a bit of time with him, and considered him a brother in many ways, spending many occasions talking with him, playing basketball, or watching a movie.

What I enjoyed most about Steven was his ability to understand deep concepts and think clearly while most people take life for granted. He caused me to think deeply on the hard issues of life, on purpose, on what the pursuit of man was.

You will be missed, my friend. Goodbye, until “That Day”.

This poem is in memory of his brilliant mind:

Restless Souls


These feet are iron anchors,

Holding my soul to this

Black underworld.

These wings are folded,

This heart is slowly breaking.

I am so tired of falling,

Of hoping and failing,

Of reaching and slipping.

Is there not another to blame,

But ourselves?

For society has not failed,

We have made it.

Is not the total of a thing

Made by the parts

That enable it to be complete?

We are the venom,

Not the cure;

The pain,

Not the healing.

Oh God—is there hope, even now?

We are forever at war,

Yet never find peace.

Instead there is sorrow,

Pain, blood, and hate,

Strewn all around us.

We forever strive,

Yet never achieve.

We forever have hope,

Yet never are free.

We forever are longing,

Yet never have love.

We forever desire,

Yet never are satisfied.

It is as bread

That intensifies hunger;

Water that is followed

By endless streams of thirst.

We forever dream of rest,

Yet restlessness haunts our soul.

For there is no rest

For the restless—

Wicked and righteous alike—

No rest for man,

As long as this life

Is in his veins.

And so I watch,

With mingled tears,

As many pass by,

Into the place

Whence there is no return.

Is it sorrow or fear

That bring such tears?

Loneliness or hopelessness?

Yet have they not

Entered into rest—

The rest we so dream of?

I do not know.

If it were so,

We would have no tears,

No despair, no grief.

If it were so,

We would wish for it

More than anything else.

But this is true,

That man has entered

His eternal end,

Yet we know not of it.

They pass us by,

Young and old,

To wait with kings and beggars.

If they could speak to us,

Would they not call back?

Would they not scream,

Like a mother watching her son

Walking towards the edge

Of an endless precipice?

Truly I say to you,

They are hoarse from it!

For they have seen man’s end,

They have viewed its’ scope—

That the race is not

To the swift,

Nor the battle for the warrior.

All things are firmly

In the Almighty’s hands,

But we cannot know our end.

Usage of words in Ecclesiastes

So let us be silent to listen:

To watch the clouds forming,

To see the rain flood down,

To feel the wind swirling

And raging in violence.

The black sky is ripped

At the seams,

As heaven meets earth,

If only for a moment.

It is so swift, so brief,

Yet what power does it carry?

What authority does God’s light hold,

As he speaks to man in it!

Humble yourself, O man!

Observe your end,

Be taught, for we know nothing.

What is the pride of man

But a thriving weed

In God’s rose garden?

Count your days as if

There were none left.

Let us now lift our eyes to glory,

Let us raise our hands,

Let us pray for grace.

And it will come down,

Like light from the firmament,

Mist on the grass.

The clouds shall melt,

And our beauty shall return.

Let us then, in His power,

Spread our wings,

Lift our feet,

And fly.

Truly our hearts are

Restless,

Until they find their rest in

Thee.

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10 thoughts on “Restless Souls

Add yours

  1. wow! so glad that there is eternal life to look forward to after this “meaningless and trite” life. I wonder if my Mom has met Steven yet?

  2. I am sure Grandma Picini was there waiting with open arms…after all it was she who kept track of who everyone was and where they were. There was a line there to enfold him in arms of love and welcome a sad soul home. He is happy now at the feet of Christ.

  3. hey Chris,

    i really enjoyed this poem. sometimes it takes a big event in our lives to inspire us to write great pieces like the one you wrote. i know i’m commenting kinda late, but i think it’s cool that you did this in memory of a friend and it shows that you cared for him. I really liked your lines that went like this:

    We are the venom,

    Not the cure;

    The pain,

    Not the healing.

    I liked it because it’s so true. There is absolutely nothing in this world that we can do that will bring true cure and healing to those who are hurting and in pain and that it is only God that can do such things! Great testimony bro and great poem!

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