Poetry
I came back from my dream
God says that the night is good.
The sound of rain in the night is also good.
A lot of people don't live in the east.
Like the sound of rain dripping down in the night.
The sound of the rain of missing, will it.
Wake up the crowd from their dreams. I think.
Only God knows ......
Friend, you are no one else.
The moonlight swayed away from the swaying land.
It's like I had a dream.
My dream, sleepy-eyed, passed through.
A long horizon until the sun rises over the sea.
I've been waiting for a fishing boat full of waves.
Returning from a dream ......
Am I the sun?
When you're indignant.
I have grown into a tree in the sky.
The sea has submerged my trees.
drowned out my voice.
Under the trees, singing fairy tale birds, have been yesterday's history.
In today's cage.
I don't sing anymore because I can't sing.
I was fined, like a grain of sand without a passport.
Blasphemed yesterday's gods.
Oh, am I the sun?
Yesterday's gods were rough and pure.
I can't help it, I'm being shadowed by myself.
Tightly? Lived in the body.
It's like that sloppy like.
Play the hoarse suona ...... in the cricket's mouth
Put it down, rough.
Put it down, it's ingenious.
Even if the sun no longer fantasizes, I can't let go of my obsession. Because.
Those moments went into an avalanche of fantasy mountains.
For me to be depressed.
Illness ......Love Song: The Second Dimension of Dreams
I always like to spend money with my lover in the flowers.
Spend the rest of your time.
Even if the rest of the time is beyond your means.
I love it too. ——
Always like to listen to you no matter when.
Min Yao who hums the blue sky.
I always like the love in your eyes, like liking.
Listen to the air, those drifting Fen.
Fang ......Girl, girl, the beautiful youth will pass.
When you're drunk, you're happy.
Bow into the chest of the sea. So that tomorrow is possible.
Put your smile yesterday and write it in.
The background of the missing.
Wall. ”All these years, I drank alone
Friend, you make me worried.
I smelled the withered scent of gerania decay.
If you pick roses from the sea, let me drift across the ocean along the warm blue tropics.
Even if you can't count the spring and autumn, don't panic, if you really can't help it.
I simply buried my cowardice under the pebblestones.
If you get confused, cover up with stones.
Our skulls that have lost their dignity ......
Ah, friend. Now that you know I don't like to bow my head, why take me into Vanity Fair.
As the car pulled out of the workshop at midnight, I heard the sound of a tiger roaring.
Over the years, I've been drinking alone, and I like to go alone.
The feeling of loving when you want to love.
Or, you feel like a boulder.
But it was given the storm crashing on the shore.
Sometimes when I fantasize about going to a dinner party with God, I feel it again.
Can't stand a thousand piles of snow**.
Why do you say, a thousand sails have passed.
Why do I think.
I will be more lovely than an autumn breeze. ——
Tenderness
I love you when I do.
The sky is flooding the earth.
A hundred years later, they say.
Your love is thick as honey.
I'm an empty hand that can't wait to reach out.
Tender as water.
It expands like a dream.
Let loose the wandering, knowledge.
That's just the accumulation of thousands of years.
A layer of ripples. ——
It doesn't matter if I say it or not.
Since loved, why.
Don't pay a little tuition.
You are the treasure of my heart.
I love you, how can I ever have extravagant words.
What's more, in the sand.
We overheard the river.
Pile up lies. Just like ants 10,000 years ago.
It tells about the kiss between Chinese and Western cultures.
The Calendar of the Earth. Shi ......
Loneliness
It's just because of love.
It's been so bleak.
My bones fell to the ground.
and cow dung, sheep dung, and grass that is a year old and a year old.
Together, next to each other. Living the old days.
Read, drink, stand by the door.
Listen to a song that used to be very popular.
When you are awake, accompany the falling sun.
Drink tea. Happiness is like a glass plank road.
Like a confidant far away in the world.
A love letter written by a woman who drinks coffee.
We are separated by dreams.
Love. The old days.
Nothing more than that-
We make money together and raise a family together.
When you're tired, together.
Lie on the bed**.
What the fish say
A fish choking on water.
Jumping in the backwater bay.
It's going upstream.
Take a look at the world of flowers outside.
It's a little tired of life nowadays.
It's all familiar faces, these days.
and what the ancestors left behind.
Nothing different, some terrible knowledge.
Except that the fish die and the net is broken.
What else? The words of the ancestors.
Let it be a fish wood head.
It hurts to think about it. The fish swims like a fish in water.
It thinks both humans and bears are just as rude.
Only the fish is like water, and it is tender.
Some choked fish.
Just to go back to my hometown.
Marry a wife and have children.
And then watch hordes of offspring swim in.
The sea they once roamed.
More fish recite the words of their ancestors.
Really wandering, growing up honestly.
What do you think, when we and the plate end out a fish.
One of its eyes turned upward.
It seems to say; These evolved children and grandchildren.
is gluttonous ancestors.
Return
Written to my mother on her ninetieth birthday.
The night is vast, and the sporadic lights bring the lonely heart.
Push to the climax. Mom.
I long to be in your arms again, to hear you sing the ballads.
O motherly breath!
Like nectar in the morning.
Aromatic
That year, that month, ideals, love.
There are countless pursuits, which grind my heart to pieces.
How many of the swaying garlands can carry the wind and rain.
Remembering the childhood, the arms of my mother.
It is the tired sleepland of the wanderer.
The lullaby rocks gently, how like a ship, moored in a tranquil harbor.
Walking on the path of memory, quiet, meandering, moon buds.
Silver light poured out.
A pu fan gently blows away mosquitoes, fireworks lit on summer nights.
Floating into the sky.
Ah, Mother's riverbed, rippling with waves.
The songs of life do not need to rhyme, and the laughter of childhood becomes the guest of honor of dreams.
Mom, the rough and flat road stretches under your feet
Even if the twilight of love is low, how can the flowing water forget the clear spring.
Flowers, blooming from the green leaves, I! It is also the mother's precious heart.
Ahead, perhaps, there are knives and axes.
Thinking of my mother's love, I can calmly accept both light and haze.
Ah, not all songs need an audience.
Mountains have their own comprehension of mountains
Water has its own harmony of water
A mass of smoking hedgehogs
A seed that is about to be potted is born in water.
After three days and three nights, ** from yellow to green.
Spring at your fingertips, standing on the shore.
My desire to sow seeds has been around for a long time.
In pure light, watch the butterflies fly.
There is no purpose, let time fly by.
Alone downstairs, like a mass of smoking hedgehogs.
Squatting on the side of the road, muttering to himself:
My heart has never died-
It often stands in the wolf's position.
Howling to the heavens of the past to tear out their hearts".
You will appear in my dreams
You will appear in my dreams to pick up movable dentures from the four seasons.
You suck the frost and dew in the wind, like time gnawing at the sunset.
The earth rises from the fog, blinding the inquiring eyes.
Truth stands under the armpits of the sun, begging to the passing wind to sprout.
O unfortunate God!
That attempted happiness is not thought.
It's a withered flower.
Withered on burning cow dung.
Author
Ye Xiaosong, born in 1964, screen name, Prometheus (fire thief), columnist of the Reading Sleep Poetry Society, and a good poet in poetry writing. Some of the poems are included in "Reading Sleep Poems: Spring Blossoms" and "Reading Sleep Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". The language of poetry is unique, the poetry is agile, and he is good at digging out the poetic soil and building the castle of poetry from the silhouette of life. Poetry has its own unique meaning and specialness, and has a certain degree of recognition.