Alexandro Johns

Silver Star - 4,363 Points [Alexandro Johns]

Alexandro Johns Poems

41. Soneto Como Un Lamento 12/16/2015
42. Arte Y Realidad 9/24/2015
43. Art And Reality 9/24/2015
44. Soneto Celular 12/18/2015
45. Cellular Sonnet 12/18/2015
46. Sonnet In The Desert 12/22/2015
47. Soneto A Nuevos Dioses 12/24/2015
48. Sonnet To New Gods 12/26/2015
49. Soneto A Mis Musas 12/30/2015
50. Sonnet To My Muses 1/1/2016
51. Soneto Al Desamor 1/4/2016
52. Soneto De Nietzsche Y Nerón 1/5/2016
53. Sonnet Of Nero And Nietzsche 1/6/2016
54. Soneto A La Poesía 1/7/2016
55. Sonnet To Poetry 1/7/2016
56. El Árbol De La Iniquidad 1/28/2016
57. Sonnet To The War Cemeteries 2/8/2016
58. Soneto A Los Cementerios De Guerra 2/8/2016
59. My Mother And Stockings Of Others 2/11/2016
60. Mi Madre Y Las Medias Ajenas 2/11/2016
61. Los Condenados Por La Inequidad 2/12/2016
62. The Convicted By Inequality 2/23/2016
63. Adolescence With My Mother 4/18/2016
64. Dioses Como Gotas De Lluvia 4/25/2016
65. Gods Like Drops Of Rain 4/27/2016
66. Madre, Yo Al Oro Me Humillo (Quevedo) 5/2/2016
67. Mother, I Bow To The Gold (Quevedo) 5/11/2016
68. Latín 5/16/2016
69. Classic Language 5/16/2016
70. Repetición De Adán 5/24/2016
71. Adam's Repetition 5/31/2016
72. Pienso Luego...... 6/11/2016
73. El Placer Del Recuerdo 6/14/2016
74. Cogito Ergo... 6/15/2016
75. The Pleasure Of Remind 6/24/2016
76. El Fin De Nuestra Era 7/5/2016
77. Ofrenda Contra El Terrorismo De Dos Mujeres Chilenas 1/11/2016
78. Soneto Contra El Terrorismo 1/14/2016
79. Sonnet Against Terror 1/16/2016
80. Sonnet To Myself 3/7/2016
Best Poem of Alexandro Johns

Forgiveness To God

We must forgive God
for the pain in the world,
we know the enigma in beauty
but we are tired of killing by its name

The passion of God's breath
doesn't allow us to die forever
so in a fiction eternal
we are devoured by the present

God's voice in the milky way
is stellar silence to our requests.

Read the full of Forgiveness To God

The Father

Before I could see him twice he crossed The Andes;
later he married in Argentine and never again returned.
I stopped the visiting to grandmother and uncles,
then we would cross in the streets without looking each other.

Already in the school my fellows asked me where was him,
the only time that secretly I start to cry for its absence.
I became another castaway from the sea of infants
looking for a nomad magician or perhaps a Puss in Boots

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