I am both imprisoned and boundless, My face is everywhere, yet none may touch it. I am chased and ignored in equal measure, No one may change me, Even from pressure. Tell me, what am I?

I'm not a knight, yet shine I wear, I glide across cotton plains with care. My face is hot, yet my touch brings grace, I smooth wrinkles with my flat hot face.

I hoard forgotten treasures, dust motes dancing in my beams. My access is often treacherous, a rickety ladder's climb. I swell with heat in the summer, and contract in winter's chill, a silent witness to time's slow, relentless will.

I make steel, but I am not made of carbon. You might see me in Blood.

I’m a hinge with no door, at the middle I bend. I help you wave, scratch, push or lend.