Sorrowful
Autumn in the body.
From the touch of your fingertips.
If that is. If you leave.
From a half-poured goblet.
You are an image of that man.
Light smile. Slurp.
Another dead leaf.
My heart. Floating.
Fall. I used to walk on the railroad tracks
I used to walk on the railroad tracks
Those abandoned railroad tracks.
In the ever-expanding time.
Silently with a red rust, like.
My corrupted childhood.
As a child, I longed for a distant place.
I once fantasized about a pleasant wandering.
I counted the carriages of those trains.
Verse by verse ...... verse by verseWhirring.
Take away my original innocence.
I used to hit the rails with stones.
Now the sound of the sound has not yet fallen silent.
Still coming clearly from the other end of the years.
Let me, who has read all the vicissitudes of life, be in the fluttering air.
Sadly touch the happiness that I have not seen for a long time.
Flowers
If it blooms. If you arrive quickly.
The most beautiful that I have been longing for.
Withering is inevitable.
Suppress the urge to burst the embankment in your heart.
Keep the first scent alive.
The kind of posture when it was just leaked.
It's impossible. I know.
And yet how I longed.
The rain was falling
The rain fell, a long time ago.
And the rain fell. I think.
There were people like me a long time ago.
Standing lonely in front of the window.
Look at the rain and write poems for the rain.
When I was writing poems for the rain.
Me and my poems.
And this déjà vu rain.
is repeating the time.
Repeatedly.
And then disappear. The rain was falling
Author:Li Ping, a post-70s amateur writer and working poet, has been insisting on writing in the cracks of making a living, was recommended to join the Hubei Writers Association in 2021, and was elected as the vice chairman of the Xian'an District Writers Association of Xianning City, Hubei Province in 2022. has always been busy with work and survival, reading books in his spare time, insisting on writing, although humble, but never sighing, alone in the text along the path of poetry to the otherworldly spiritual palace.
Read the Sleep Poet Shooting.
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life.