The only suggestion I have is to take out the "it" that you put in several times. It is grammatically incorrect and a distraction. Only once, I think, does the rhythm need that syllable. Most of the time, when reading this aloud, the 'it' is a dropped syllable, anyway. One you barely notice.
Other than that, this is simply an exquisite piece. Your phrasing is excellent and your choice of metaphors is just beautiful. I really, really like this. Take out the 'its' and I'll love it.
You asked for our interpretation. That's a little hard. I get the feeling that you're looking back at earlier writings, pieces that reflect past longings and desires. Longings, desires and dreams that remain unfulfilled. Reading them again stirs up those dreams, and your mind is perhaps telling your heart that the time for those things is past or that you really can't accomplish those things, anyway, that you just aren't good enough. But even after you've convinced yourself that those memories are beyond doing now, your heart wonders. Only God knows if you could do them. I got a feeling of wistfulness, of longing. I really enjoyed it.
For your title? Maybe something like "Gathering Dust"? That's not very good, either. Titles aren't my strong suit. Sorry.
So. You should change the title to something more... interesting. `Cause, frankly, it`s really boring right now. I`m the first one to have even viewed it. It`s a great piece, you`ve just got to catch the eye better.
The pen, it hardly trembles, speaking softly to the page of words that were forgotten by the turning of the age.
S o o o o o o o o o pretty. I don`t really know how you could improve this... maybe a little more detailed? Paint out a picture that a blind man could see.
Hey chica! I like this. It seems very...you. Personally I like the title because I feel it describes this poem very well. And guess what...I refuse to give you an interpretation. Why? Because I'm too lazy to think about that right now. ^_^ I'm also just not that motivated right now. Later.
I like it. I take this as a poem of someone trying to write a poem, and can't think of anything, and has too much on his/her mind, the inner quarrel, and what not. It's enough to write, but it's to confusing to care enough to write.