Sonnet As A Lament Poem by Alexandro Johns

I am the sorcerer of myself
I come mounted on a horseback of traps
Where my torrid desires intersect
With the road that leads me into exile.

I come with me on the back from centuries
And I burn the wheat fields with laments
Chillaren of the wind do not carry inks
That make me eternal to the clamor of dream.

Why does time spoils me,
If I praise it in everlasting steel
Like a Don Quixote against a strident mill?

I am going to die or to be hanged on oblivion.
I see my birth and I detest myself
As a god's son that they don't know exists.