The words coming out from this poem were sad!

This memory I had hidden away had found away to get out. My pen embraced it knowing every word would break it. 

As i looked at my pen and it's ink winked at me, I whispered to it you not ready to write this memory. 

my pen lashed out angry at me! Dropped out from my hand reminding me it's the reason I'm able to breath. 

It's ink has been loyal to every memory I have let free, it makes me smile when I write reading words that are so deep. 

So my poetry stepped in put my pen in my hand, told us we need each other, with out either one well both go mad.  

So I allowed that memory to speak! The pens ink began to think from happiness and all laughter to the madness so much sadness.

My pen begged me to stop writing, understood why this memory was hidden away from reality. 

My question was not been answered! So i asked again? Can I eat the ashes of your burned figed leaf? 

But the time stopped ticking a broken pen is all I had in my hand not breathing.

JidosReality 9.10.16