There is time.

There is time,
Time enough to slow the gait.
Not,
Time to waist or wait.
But,
Time enough,
Not to rush towards,
An early fate..
There is,
Time.
So I slow and focus,
Not on the face but,
The unseen state of flow.
I slip,
Beneath the passage,
of the passing cars.
Slip,
Beneath their haze,
And post,
Industrialized, haste.
I Slip,
The tailgating chase of
Consumption,
The,
Disruption of,
An indeterminate throttled action.
There is time,
Time enough,
To jump the verges of this,
Thoroughfare.
To leave the paved noise,
Of the carriageway,
And feel instead,
The interplay of a winding path,
Amongst,
A still slick, grass.
Time yet,
To be lead further on,
Before this,
Awakening day.
To leave those,
At last now distant sounds,
Bleating helpless upon their blackened fields.
Lost from sight beyond the stare of trees,
While here,
Life and nature,
Emerges within the flow,
Of a stream.