The Patience of Time

They say that time can mend the deep,

The wounds we hide, the tears we keep.

That even sorrow, vast and wide,

Will fade like footprints lost in tide.

But tell me, when? How long must pain

Be carried through the sun and rain?

How many nights must silence grow

Before the weight begins to go?

The clock hands turn, yet do not tell

When hearts unshatter, when souls feel well.

It does not whisper when grief will wane,

Only that healing walks with pain.

But some wounds never truly fade,

Some emptiness is softly laid

Like echoes trapped in hollow space,

A missing half no time can trace.

For souls are stitched in twos, not one,

And when they break, they come undone.

No ticking clock, no distant shore,

Can bring back what was lost before.

Yet somewhere in the quiet vast,

Another heart drifts, bruised but fast.

Not to replace, not to erase,

But to fit within the broken space.

For time alone can’t make us whole,

It merely soothes, it takes its toll.

But love—though different, new, unknown,

Can heal what time has left alone.