Today, while listening to Miley Cyrus's "The Climb" today, I wondered whether she wrote her own songs. It then occurred to me: it is more artistic that she didn't. When a songwriter syndicates his creations to the world, it makes more of an entity out of them. Pits of genius, only connected in history to their creator, floating abstractly about, waiting for someone to make them real.
I composed a poem to express the above thoughts:
Emotions
Bubbled up
exploding, popping
Everywhere
a commotion oozes out
it runs free
through the night
motley of energy
pulsing
through the fields,
color
Everywhere
on the grass,
on the stars,
on the sky itself,
meets a coduit
to self-expression
whatever,
whatever
it hits
and is let loose
estranged from
its creator
explosions and
explosions
then, color
on everyone
