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 A Poem by Snyman Rijkloff

Where is your struggle?
Where is your real?
I would tell you about a rose garden proper
The joyous laughter of an English tea
The glorious delight soaking in the purest of discourse.
Yet the rusty chains of being weighed and found wanting,
Simmering one down to the deepest black of pits,
reveals to us both, this broken world, battered with mourning.

Where is your struggle?
Where is your real?
I would show you the kingdom of God
Bursting forth out of souls of children
Wearing nothing but the vivid bright of white
The essence of a humble simplicity
Covered in richness more than heart could wish for.
Alas! The sombre grey veil covering our eyes,
Our faces, our being,
Lamentably hauling the passion from our fragile nature.

Indeed! The struggle is real.
Yet now, experienced from within
The safety of a loving hand
Instilling every calculated serene reflection
Graciously defining the blink of our existence
Constantly adding a sweet aroma of soothing moral fiber
Flooding the mind with an ever-increasing calm.
Higher ground is found,
The spirit of heaviness lifted,
Perceived fear has lost its harm,
Your tension is forevermore released.
Tell me if you may,
Where is your struggle?
Where is your real?