museum of not meant to

Striding through the halls
Stalking through the stalls
The memories never meant to be
Opportunities never seized
Moments always ceased
And now within these halls,
They are chasing.

The echo of a word unspoken
Another forgotten token
Of gratitude,
Times are tense, others are always stolen
The tilting seems almost obtuse.

An action forgotten within
Did the courage run away with the wind?
Painting memories of what could have been
Forced to learn with them,
Regret, contemplate, cut from the stem.
The flowers that never got to bloom,
Their petals are withered
But the seeds were true.

The garden begun and forgot 
Each seed, remembrance left to rot.
The remaining roots are in a glass,
Passing by it, time doesn't seem so fast.
Echoes of the past
Are crawling up the room
Of everything that didn't last
Of everything not meant to.

Finished walking through treasures,
Obituaries bathed in falsehood, 
Shattered under pressure,
But their writings stood
Halting briefly to contemplate,
Did every one of those ache?

They must have,
As now, they're no good
Presented in hesitation,
Unbridled desperation
In the museum of not meant to.