you are still you

there are some pens that just don't write anymore
the ink is old,
the ballpoint flow is
gone
given up
stuck in its own predicament
the paper squeezes tears from the margin
but the pen just sits
silent
eyes unopened
no longer hoping
all words have been written
there are no more stories to tell
the pen just sits
dormant
snoring
boring
but I pick it up
cradle it in crevices
and speak its own language
it still has a friend,
willing
hoping
and still writing
a finished pen
might as well be a finished person
losing their purpose is what is worst
when there are some pens that don't write anymore
I find them
guide them back to this page
and lend them a hand so they can say what they have to
roll it off their ballpoint chest
and if they are out of breath,
let them rest on their own terms
because no pen deserves to be forgotten
and no poet or person or page should let them