Endless Strife Poem by samuel nze

The problem with life to me
Seems to be that
Its needs are too many
Causing discomfort;
We cannot take our hands
Into our breast to rest.
The struggle must go on
Indefinitely.
Waking and striving earlier,
Laying and sleeping later,
The hustle is perennially keen
As we brush aside the doctor's caution
And one another too,
Yet the psalmist has said that
Our striving is useless
As God blesses his lazying beloved
As they loll on their beds.