Poems by David DeSilva

CLOSE MYEYES

Here I lay, the ruins of what’s left of a day. Less than ordinary, not very exciting at all. Yet so very exasperating.

I close my eyes, resting them after a day of training them on the world, battered, abused, and beaten by the Madison Avenue scene, the sparkle and strange chatter of a stranger.

My feet lay limp and lifeless after hours of supporting my cigarette habit and blazing old trails. Tired from taking me from one adventure to another they can’t see. Wondering how they can walk a mile in another man’s shoes when they can barely stand to go a few more feet in what they’re in now.

Now I lay me down to sleep. Good dreams tonight I hope I reap. Dreams not of what might be but what might have been. How the day might have gone had I only stayed in one place.

Had I let the world come and find me today, would old friends have stopped by? Would I have been killed? Would I have been cast in a movie where I run naked through a desert speaking nonsensical French? Or at the very least, not be so tired as I am now?

THE DIRECTOR’S WORD

So this is what it feels like to be god. I summon my powers—the producers, writers, camera men and actor. In no time, I’m creating a universe. I carve the mountains in each character’s path. The day and the night come and go at my command.

I am the director almighty. My will be done. Thou shalt be no prima donna higher than me, for I am a vengeful and jealous director. I giveth your career life and I can taketh it away.

For this brief moment in time, I am god. I am held up on high as my meager underlings tremble at my feet. My every command is law. This universe that I create, that I bring to life in the final cut—a universe that came to life when I let there be lights, camera, action.

David DeSilva

David DeSilva