A Box of Keys

My grandpa used to have a box of keys.
There must have been a hundred.
Every key was different.
A rusty one, a blue one.
One with a seahorse.
One with a frayed purple ribbon. 
One with a diamond on the end.
One with a star,
one with a crown.

They were all so different, so many things to be unlocked,
opened up,
exposed, 
answered.
I wish I could ask him,
why so many keys?
but I can't 
because there is no key;
not for a coffin.

It's just one of those things,
it's not locked,
but we can't manage to unlock it, 
no matter how many keys
were left to us.