The broken alarm clock’s chipped blue face,
its missing hand pointing nowhere special.
A VHS tape labeled "Family Vacation,"
spooled tight with faded memories.
Three-legged chairs wobbling in uncertain rhythm,
their fourth limb lost to time.
Yellowed cookbooks with splattered, torn pages—
dog-eared but never truly loved.
Frayed scarves draped over cardboard boxes,
still smelling faintly of grandmother's perfume.
Silver-plated picture frames holding strangers' smiles,
somewhere now unrecognizable as home.
A solitary shoe, scuffed and partnerless,
whispering forgotten adventures into the void.
Candleholders that carried too many burnt wicks,
wax trickling like old regrets.
Chessboards missing queens, pawns wandering aimlessly,
games unfinished, forever suspended mid-strategy.
Plastic clocks stuck at 3:42 PM,
the hour carved into their silence.
Birthday cards signed from a "Mary,"
whose love nobody remembers anymore.
These are the ghosts no one adopts,
the leftovers of lives once whole.
An unclaimed graveyard of almosts and befores,
waiting for hands that never return.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: September 2nd, 2026 11:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
good write my friend, much enjoyed
Thank You Norman
most welcome
So vivid and well painted a metaphor per chance of people as well, misfits forgotten and discarded along the way.
Right On brother
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