Recycled words

Away.
Far away.
Far far away I tried to stay.
Away from this pen.
Away from this keyboard.

If you ask yourself why,
The answer is so I can fly.

What is there to write about anymore?
Every speech has been given,
Every tragedy has been written.
That is why I tried not to open this door.

What is there to write about?
Every idea has been stormed,
Every play preformed.
Is your heart is still heavy with doubt?

Write your dreams.
Write your hopes.
Write about life,
Ripped at its very seams.
Write about the ropes,
Taunting relief from strife.

Tell me, is it futile?
Are they all not merely recycled words?

That is why I wanted to fly away,
Far far away.
Far away.
Away.