" Time Will Tell" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
Time Will Tell
Time will tell, they say with ease,
A quiet whisper on the breeze.
Of days to come and days long past,
Of moments lost or moments vast.
Time will tell—through dawn and dusk,
Through seasons’ dance of bloom and husk,
Of rain-soaked nights and sunlit days,
And all that change has swept away.
Time, a river, strong and slow,
Carries all with undertow.
It weaves the path that we can’t see,
A boundless, silent mystery.
With ticking hands that mark the hours,
Unfolding buds, then fallen flowers,
It shapes each face and shadows dreams,
A weaver on a warp unseen.
Time will tell of love that grew,
In gardens warm, with morning dew.
Of passion's flame, both bright and fierce,
And quiet eyes that longing pierced.
It tells of hearts that broke apart,
Their seams unstitched by fate or art.
Yet even there, Time's whispers say,
Some wounds may soften with decay.
Time will tell of roads not tread,
Of things undone and words unsaid.
A careful keeper of regret,
It holds the nights we can't forget.
But Time is kind, for it will heal,
Though scars may linger, sharp and real.
The weight of sorrow, lightened slow,
As healing rivers cease to flow.
Time will tell, though often mute,
With autumn's song or spring's green shoot.
In winter's still, in summer's fire,
It sings the truth of each desire.
And yet we try to grasp its hand,
To make it pause, to understand.
We plead and bargain, wrest and fight,
To slow its march, to hold it tight.
But Time will tell, and never lie,
It never stops to question why.
It sweeps us forward, on and on,
Past every dusk, toward every dawn.
So let it tell, with all it knows,
Each laugh, each tear, each thorn, each rose.
And in its patient, endless grace,
We find our lives, our time, our place.
Time will tell, they say with ease,
A quiet whisper on the breeze.
Of days to come and days long past,
Of moments lost or moments vast.
Time will tell—through dawn and dusk,
Through seasons’ dance of bloom and husk,
Of rain-soaked nights and sunlit days,
And all that change has swept away.
Time, a river, strong and slow,
Carries all with undertow.
It weaves the path that we can’t see,
A boundless, silent mystery.
With ticking hands that mark the hours,
Unfolding buds, then fallen flowers,
It shapes each face and shadows dreams,
A weaver on a warp unseen.
Time will tell of love that grew,
In gardens warm, with morning dew.
Of passion's flame, both bright and fierce,
And quiet eyes that longing pierced.
It tells of hearts that broke apart,
Their seams unstitched by fate or art.
Yet even there, Time's whispers say,
Some wounds may soften with decay.
Time will tell of roads not tread,
Of things undone and words unsaid.
A careful keeper of regret,
It holds the nights we can't forget.
But Time is kind, for it will heal,
Though scars may linger, sharp and real.
The weight of sorrow, lightened slow,
As healing rivers cease to flow.
Time will tell, though often mute,
With autumn's song or spring's green shoot.
In winter's still, in summer's fire,
It sings the truth of each desire.
And yet we try to grasp its hand,
To make it pause, to understand.
We plead and bargain, wrest and fight,
To slow its march, to hold it tight.
But Time will tell, and never lie,
It never stops to question why.
It sweeps us forward, on and on,
Past every dusk, toward every dawn.
So let it tell, with all it knows,
Each laugh, each tear, each thorn, each rose.
And in its patient, endless grace,
We find our lives, our time, our place.
©A. Derek Catalano/ChatGPT
Related poem: In Due Time
