The Garden of Misplaced Things

A poem to keep my heart from slipping away.

In the garden of misplaced things,

I wander where the lost wind sings.

Shoes with no owners, letters unread,

Memories folded in corners of dread.

A clock ticks backward, a rusted swing sways,

Shadows of laughter haunt broken pathways.

Keys without doors, and dreams half-spilled,

Promises tangled, forever unfulfilled.

I call your name through tangled rows,

Through wilted petals and thorny throes.

But the garden only answers with sighs,

And the empty echo of vanished skies.

I leave my heart among the weeds,

Water it with tears no one heeds.

For in this garden, all that clings

Are ghosts of forgotten, fragile things.