Portrait In Gray Poem by Alexandro Johns

If I was in a law school
and wear out five years
to know the vertexes
of a fierce cobwed,
I must admit
a little of poison
darkened the days
while I was working my bread
in a world planned
with ancient ashes
that concealed me
between thousands.

I was also a walker among lines
before to meet her,
then I looked as a puppet
without mooring ropes and aged.
She didn't ask me questions
and didn't care my kind of madness
when she saw me bruised and sore
like a Don Quixote tangled in his spear.
She let me submerge in her
as in deep waters
and then freed me.

Now I am the poet
that carries a hidden name:
Secret Narcissus
Florentine Horse
Indian with the Head up
who listens as they are maim
and he raves.

I try to become some day
a happy old man
to caress the fruits
of the senile innocence,
In an absurd world
to see them all
as good people
and some bad guys
as of tale types
that simulate love
and they smile
like the Alice's cat
before fading away
taking our last breath.