Time Heals All?

If time will tell then why does't she speak to a daughter with ears so eager as mine? Why must she retreat to silence when she has power to heal? She grows the rose gardens, ages the wise but yet has she tended to my open wound? So, alone I hoplessly sit in my hollow chair fanning my wound so raw; in hope of healing times. Oppressed by her patronising ticking she hooks me like a fish and I am again lurred to her deceptive trap and captured once more. But still, the oceans thicken; the trees topple the sky and I am left unaided and infected, for my untreated wound has led to internal damage I fear shall never heal. If not, then I am doomed; but if I do heal I still am left with the infinite reminder of my scar that time knows not of compassion for a weeping daughter but of cruel irony that leaves me weak and unable to persist in asking for aid. With no choice I rest my body and let time take her course, for I now know time is not my enemy nor my friend. She is impartial and follows only what she was created to do.