The Key No Longer Fits

The box dust, fine as flour,

coated the brass key, dark and slow.

It felt too heavy for its power,

a silent weight from long ago.

The rubber band, a brittle ring,

fell apart like old dried skin.

A broken tooth, not meaning a thing,

no door to open, no way in.

I turned it over, felt the grit,

a phantom lock, a stubborn line.

Just brass and rust, where memories sit,

no purpose left, no longer mine.