Qin Han
Snap out your name engraved on Black Rock.
My bloody palms.
Always in the lonely wind.
Trembling something.
A bloody past.
Flying snowflakes.
and the white dichoke that seeps into the heart and lungs in the wilderness.
What a light thought it brought me.
I heard a downfall.
Narrate. I heard Sanshengli.
A fiery horse with compassion.
Carrying everything with all:
Time, fireworks, dust.
Brocade silk scriptures temples.
Every kind of falls.
It's all the reincarnation of the past.
Every reincarnation.
I have been tempered again.
Or. Fill my heart with a layer.
Crystal clear hoarfrost.
Whose voice do I hear?
Singing the old Tang Dynasty: Li Du.
Maybe tonight: I'm old and nowhere to go.
I'm just lonely in the wind.
A ** butterfly.
I have eternal sorrow.
I have the temple of mercy.
My pastor, my nun.
and my platonic thoughts.
I'm a crowded cluster of mayflies.
On my weak body.
Please read carefully
Your name. ** In the tyrannical Qin period.
A life like snow
Whose low weeping caused the singing in the middle of the night?
I hovered in my hands in mid-air.
But he couldn't catch the fleeting neon before dawn.
Or. It's a dotted line in the clouds.
The singing is still. Time is far away.
I indulge in the mournful fragrance of the osmanthus tree.
Like the edge of a sword sticking into the ends of my hair.
My city is too starlit and lonely.
Just a lily in the courtyard.
Plunged me into a place from which I could never recover.
Moaning, contemplation, alcoholism.
When all the dust has not yet settled.
I saw a black, pressed autumn leaf.
Suddenly gone. Carrying the extravagant hopes of my life.
Plum Blossom's Speech:
Live up to the cold. Live up to my life as pure as snow.
Spring mountain empty
I admire all the emptiness.
Wind and rain flowers teardrops.
These are things that make my heart tremble.
It occupies the warehouse of my life.
Hunger, thirst and untimely watch.
Smelt the strength of iron.
like a false fire.
Burning with bubbling blood.
Roses exist.
It's like using up a lifetime.
Won't understand yet:
Roses are fiery in nature.
There will always be nights when the moonlight is lost.
Stealing women. The spark of desire.
On the way, if there is love.
That's a horse carrying you.
Such as in a midsummer flower pond.
Huge waves in the ocean.
Wait for the twilight snow to fall.
Wait for the flowers to bloom.
Author:Geng Bing, net name: Houde Zaiwu, post-70s, college culture, member of Jiangsu Writers Association, columnist of Reading Sleep Poetry Society. In 95, he began to publish his works, and his works were scattered in more than 100 kinds of literary publications such as "Writer's Daily" and "Poetry", and won more than 30 national awards.
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.