One desires rest,

While the other cannot find love;

Struggling within himself,

Is peace a fleeting dove?


Purposed for a plan,

He goes his own way;

Seeking out his path,

To find the final day.


Turmoil he battles,

As brothers in the field;

No victory,

But in the sword he wields.


Caution besets him,

In his dying breath;

No life of meaning,

Except upon his death.


Do we bare this fate,

A warrior without a soul?

Or is love hanging,

Prepared before us like a pitcher and a bowl?


Christ was the answer,

Rejected without cause;

But He still offers us His hand,

In upward applause.


A Warrior Without A Soul by Ronhales                                                                                                                                    Romans 7:13

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