Lock and Latch

A key rests cold in my palm, tarnished and gray,

once it unlocked a world where I could play.

Now it’s a relic of moments long fled,

finding its way to a drawer instead.

I twist it in thought—no doors left to find,

each turn recalls echoes, a past intertwined.

Its uselessness lingers, a truth I can’t shed,

for things left behind leave a weight in my head.