Kairos

In this world of concrete forms,
The roots and the weeds conspire,
Fissuring seems in roads and walks,
Artistic anarchy reaches higher,
As blithe in step the passersby,
In cranial space fail to admire,
The gift.

When a respite from distraction —
Being a time where time does fail
To lord it over my harried self —
Tears of leaves through light do sail,
And fleeting with the gentle breeze,
Sweetly interrupts the tired travail,
Adrift.

As a friend lingers with the leaves,
Paused to gaze in contemplation,
Their golden hues play in the light,
And ushers epiphany or incarnation,
While they rustle o'er roads and walks,
Deepens my vision and soft elation,
Uplift.

And just as quickly, as if a ghost,
Had once congealed and dissipated,
Time resumed its persistent pace,
Compelling with agenda unabated,
Still the leaves in softest rustle,
Echo truth in which we are created,
and sift,
A lament soul.