Darryl (Daristotle) McMillan

Rookie (11/01/1984 / Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario Canada)

Jacob Lewis (Part One) - Poem by Darryl (Daristotle) McMillan

A man lived on the streets of town a man that we called Jake.
I had never spoken to this man but a difference it would make.
Jake always lived on James Street just past the corner of Burke.
I always saw him sleeping there as I was on my way to work.

His clothes were dirty and ripped and his shoes were all worn.
I couldn’t help but feel of what a shame he had been borne.
His hair was long and a dirty brown a loss of beauty there.
For he would have been a hansom man if he had only taken care.

His eyes were blue and told of pain each and every day.
I couldn’t help but wonder how he lived this way.
He never asked for money like any other bum.
And even if he had I doubt I’d give him some.

I walked this same old path of mine for several years.
And soon I walked right by him so without any fears.
One day I saw some kids trying to wake him up.
And as they woke and yelled at him they took his only cup.

I had watched him many times try to help the passers by.
But only get rejected but I’d never seen him cry.
One day my imagination got the best of me.
This day I went up to him he was sitting by a tree.

Sir said I to introduce myself, my name is Ray.
I couldn’t help but see you here each and everyday.
I am sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to know
Or what happened to you to make brave the snow.

He turned to me and looked as though I had made him mad
But still I stayed and looked at him with everything I had.
His angry look had drifted away as if it wasn’t even there.
And he looked at me for such a time it became a stare.

Son he said to me in a bellowy kind of voice.
The things that happened to me they were all my choice.
I wanted to turn away to leave this conversation
But I couldn’t help but listen to my imagination.

I don’t mean to be rude my sir but why would you chose this.
A life of cold and dirty clothes instead of one of bliss.
He turned away and said hold on and reached into a sack.
He gave to me a book and said please read the work.

The book was called “the poems of I” and the name was in red.
I said aloud Jacob Lewis and the man hung his head.
He said I was once a writer the best on in the land.
Until I found this book of mine laying in the sand

I looked at him in disbelief of what I had been told.
I couldn’t believe he wrote the book the one that I now hold.
So you’re telling me you’re Jacob Lewis the writer of this book.
And I think he knew how I felt with my disbelieving look.

He looked at me and started to speak and suddenly he stopped.
It was almost like he lied to me and knew that he was caught.
He asked me son why cant you believe that I could write a book.
Do you think that you can judge my mind because of how I look.

I couldn’t help but feel uneasy from what I had been asked.
For I couldn’t say yes to this so I said no at last.
Come sit down he said to me, as he patted the ground.
I looked to see who else could see but no one was around.

I sat beside the old man, the one that I approached.
To see of what he’d tell me and waiting to be coached.
He asked me if I read poetry and embarrassed I said no.
Then this lesson here my son is for you and I will show.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, September 4, 2006

Poem Edited: Wednesday, September 1, 2010

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