In hollow hands, they rust and sleep,
Forgotten purposes, their duties deep.
Once-turning, opening, freeing the way,
Now idle, useless, night and day.

Their teeth, once biting, now blunt and worn,
Their handles, smooth, their edges torn.
No locks to turn, no doors to open wide,
They gather dust, and silently reside.

Like memories of love that's lost its fire,
Like dreams that fade, and hearts that tire.
They hold no power, no secret might,
Just relics of a bygone light.

Why do we keep them,...