Lockless

From the drawer's dark clutter,

pulling out the junk I keep.

Old receipts, dried rubber bands,

secrets buried deep.

Then this. A heavy thing,

all brass and green with age.

An intricate, cold pattern,

a forgotten page.

A key. But for what door?

What lock did it once find?

Its purpose now a mystery,

a thing left far behind.

It fits no known entrance,

no box, no clasp, no frame.

Just sits there, tarnished, useless,

a whisper of a name

I can't recall.