The Autobiography of Don Juan

It was a bright sunny day, though mixed with scattered sprinkles of snow, The Lord had a special soul yet to be given a name this November morning and so………….. Looking down upon his mother earth, A young man named George and a young woman named Rose A beautiful day, a fresh new birth, Unto these lovers he choose. (So chipping off a piece of the moon and the sun The soul of a poet was born and they named him, Don Juan.) Curly hair and a beautiful smile, Never before a more handsome child. Little did they know, the looks and the name, Would be his ticket to the Player Games. So as time went on there was formed the perfect player, Old school pimp, poet, lover, fighter, and heartless woman slayer. The looks, the name, pushed him on this path from the start, No one, but Don Juan, knew that none of this was truly in his heart. So day in, day out, up, down and around about the play, Don Juan went on his way-a different woman every day. Wondering just what was really the big deal? Was this admirable life of his times just a cover? Would he ever find true love from a real true lover? Fast cars, money, guns and drugs, Young cats and old alike praised him as the players’ thug. Although he was very good at all he tried to do This meant he was very good at being very bad, too! After several narrow escapes from the law, And gruesome murders he can’t admit he ever saw He decided this thug life, this lonely player’s role Was only good for a short life. The road to death of a Poets soul. All the while all he wanted – All he would ever yearn Was one true love and family (But alas, this soul had a lot to learn). With truth and faith came much heartache, Wine and beers flushed with rivers of tears, Of failed love affairs, year after years. Still masking the pain with his smile and his name, Though deep inside his tears poured like crying rain. There were false threats of a son then came his beautiful little daughter By an alcoholic woman who couldn’t give her daughter a quarter Nor get out the bed to give her a drink of water! He stuck by his daughter from the second she was born She has his last name and a similar first name of, Dawn. Three years passed with no sign of the mother-his ex-lover, Till one day she poked her jealous head From under her alcohol vomit stained covers. Knocking on his door with officers from Juvenile, Full of hurtful sinful lies, knowing all the while…. Her true motivation behind all this hurt Was only to see the soul or a true poet, hurt! Now it’s been well over two or three years Since he and his daughter shared a smile or a tear. Having no idea where his baby girl might be, His smile growing bigger so less pain others would see. So with that let’s come to a temporary end, To the look behind the big wide grin. And don the mask of joy and laughter, Waiting to open the book on yet another chapter. Always so lonely though in a crowded room, The smiling best man, but never the groom. This poet’s soul constantly reshapes itself, Having learned there will be no one else- Until he can find peace within himself. Merely the portray-er of the role of a player. Of all the roles that he can choose, It’s the only on he has And has To lose.