Lock of Memory

In the rusted metal, memory breathes,
A cold breath lifting dust and time,
And the past curves like a faint sighing sound.
The lock stands still, an ancient sentinel,
Waiting for the key that lost its own way:
A forgotten face, a nameless sound.
Each scratch recounts a fading tale,
The key has lost its mark within the years,
And it hangs suspended ’tween now and recall.
Perhaps the memory finds the missing key,
Maybe not, yet still it breathes within the steel;
The lock will yield only when time decides to turn.