The film begins,
No wait...the filming begins,
When a child grabs ahold of a new toy,
A camera that doesn't lie,
But sometimes the images are blurred,
Out of focus,
Not always sharp and crisp,
The way a well-known and famous director would do,
There are rules understood,
Yet, unknown to him,
The child points the camera in all directions,
Perspectives never seen,
Unaware of the well-defined dynamics,
Of film-mastery,
Pointing aimlessly at times, to the sky, the ground or inconspicuous leaves lying on the freshly cut grass,
Actors left out of scene, dialogue goes missing, interpretations left to doubt,
The master, taking offense,
Buries the child director,
In condemnation,
Without offers of help,
'...if you can't do this child, find some other way, to express yourself and your ideas,
'cause you're giving us a bad name, to all who came before you, through struggle and through strife, please little child, put down your lens, so we can do it right'. Scolded and hurt and shattered, The child did surrend, and giving up, his lens of glass, to such a bitter end.
