Lost Action
by. Clara Cecilia Cordero
Lost without direction
empty, put away.
almost silent
hurted and careless
witted little bitch
No, not really
walking around empty stress of forgotten Paris.
The ice coiled
Grow up.
The problem starts with the writer
the paper is too silk
the hands are broken
the fainted melody of a childhood memory
the rain against the pavement
the jokingly sound.
Laughter. The smell of coffee.
Remembering a task
put the coins on the machine.
Take places. It's time
it will start at the beginning.
The muse arrives
the tension cuts the air like a knife
a peck on the lips.
Silence! It's about to start.
Many movements none of them are about the roll.
Take the camera, close your eyes and so it rolls.
Action.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetrySadness can be a trigger of inspiration based on rational overpowering thoughts of a teenage mind.
