Saturday Morning Cartoons

A mad rush to work.
catch the bus, control quirks.
Filing, lunch, mails and calls.
Mailing huched, shrinking walls.
Computers slow, neon lights.
Need time, time to go almost night.

Chaos.
Riotous Pointlessness.
A lost mess without a purpose.

How I long for silence.
For the sweet song of laziness.
To wake up at noon,
To Saturday morning cartoons.
To the sweet whirls of the wind whistling through the trees.
The chirp of squirrels, sun on my skin and the soothing breeze.
Light sweat on the head, the blossoms perfume in the light of the moon.
Then lie in your bed, after playing in your room,
And wait instead for Sunday morning cartoons.

How did we complicate something so simple?
Something so perfect?
In our search for more, we lost a life truly enviable.
In our search for the finer things we were afflicted.

We lost our ability to appreciate the profoundly, simple folly that makes life worth living.

The wind on our skin, the smell of the rain, Sleeping in, snoozing, the dull buzz in your brain as you wake up.
The awe of watching the discovery channel, Or drinking tea off the kettle, instead of the cup.
Sucking on ice to soothe your burnt tongue, Feel the warmth of the night meal in your lungs.
Sitting and watching the flowers sigh, Lying in the grass and watching birds fly by.
Listening for the sounds of trees growing, Enjoying doing things,
Simply because you don't need to do them.
Like writing a random poem.
Counting the stars up above.
Or sitting and musing about the things you love.

Yes I know I'm mentioning the same stuff again for effect.
Notice how even repeated it still sounds perfect.
Cause no matter if the world grows cold.
These little things never get old.

This is the Sabbath that was stolen from man.
This is what we surrendered at the fall.
This is what we lost and fail to understand.
To earn a little, we gave away it all.
We gave away our best.
We surrendered our rest for toil.
Looking back we see life spoiled.


That's the other reason Jesus came I guess.
To proclaim rest and freedom to all.
Not just to redeem our fall.
So that we could receive God's best.
His peace, His rest.

Dedicated to Niruban, and our Luggers who like us, savor Saturday morning cartoons.
May they never seem childish to us.
And may God take us home to him before they do.