"There must be injustice and sadness in the world, but through verse, grievance and sadness can be converted." "Chiang Hsun once said so. Reading poetry is like a process of digestion of sadness, for life to leave some monologue, every week this time, I long for you to leave a time for yourself, parting from the reality of the turmoil, the woman fans only read poems for you.
When I first met you, you gave me your heart,
Inside was a spring morning.
When I see you, you give me your word,
What cannot be said is the blazing summer of fire.
Three See you when you give me your hand,
There is a leaf falling in the late autumn.
Finally see you is my short dream,
Dream of you and a group of winter wind.
--Shao America's season
When the wind blows up
The bells rang under the porch
Little Himin bird with low flying curtain
You are leaning against the railing, no longer looking at the flowers, no longer looking at the bridge
Look at the clouds in the twilight of the Heavens
When the wind blows, I'll remember
When the wind blows, I gaze at the beautiful horror of your straw hat
There's a sunset on your shoulder
The sand bites the lips of my Southern man
You're 懐 on my wave chest
We are independent, looking at the twilight from
Each other's shoulders softly falling
To fall lightly
--Yang Mu deyi when the Wind Blows
My Blind lover lays a kiss
He was the first to arrive
Between the word and the meteorite
The polar fault of the eternal daylight
His eyes were dark as
Stars farther away from the viewing mirror
The Worm hole of consciousness
Hit the coma to the left of the chest
This life is doomed with injury
The most tender and bitter honey
He landed
To peel off the moon-shaped bubble helmet.
Prostrate in the heart of Venus
Sucking Jupiter's root liquid
Hold a pen.
With the determination of the fire.
Read the Sound of Light.
The brightness of October is extremely sharp and cannot be seen
The man had a sweat on his forehead
Two legs shaking.
The complexion is as Earth
Anatomy of the organs of the poem Under Strange Twilight
At this moment, the most imminent resurrection of our ideals.
Destroyed in time.
The posture of gravity
Like the only tree on the planet
To trample on one's own fruit hard
--Tui Sun-hua, drifting among the planets
Every tear
It's all coming from afar.
Flow towards the future.
For a cat.
Once kissed.
My eyes
--concealment is the origin and the whereabouts
The forest is at my feet, and my hut is still up there.
The fence is seen and the turn is gone
There's a man leaning on the door for me.
When I bring a new book and a repaired violin.
And I only bring a pot of wine
For the one who waits for me is gone
The clouds are on my way, on my bottom
I am in a faint yearning
No bird's throat, no flowers, no nightmare.
I am on a cold dream soil ...
The forest is at my feet, and my hut is still up there.
The fence is seen and the turn is gone
--Zheng Sorrow to the dream soil