Sacrifice to the eagle
The sky is full of mourning and mourning.
An eagle. Death in suspense.
Each feather hissed.
Admiration with a steep drop in prestige.
Big dreams caught in claws.
Lost in the gushing.
The clouds are like history, especially heavy.
I can't forget the rocks that took off.
Can't forget the paternal sky.
Tears were in full swing. Brightens the pupils of the sun's fading fading.
I imagine if the next century was moved.
Eagle, re-circling.
on my wings.
What kind of rainbows will be resurrected?
Pain, come quickly
Pain, come quicklyI'm no longer afraid.
I will open my body and soul.
Meet your blades.
I will make all the wounds bloom with roses and smell strange.
Pain, come on.
Faster, more, heavier, deeper, harder.
Hit me. The four beams and eight pillars of pain filled the abyss after my happy departure.
Pain, come quickly
When pain meets pain, I am no longer in pain.
When I understand the pain.
Pain is just a prescription with the names of plants and trees written on it.
Oh pain, here you go.
Come on, come quickly.
I'm waiting for you under a cherry blossom tree, Eyes.
There is no storm already.
Autumn River
The Autumn River is a river of memories in the twilight.
Meandering in the past.
Lingering in the present, mournfully silent among the fallen leaves.
It is brownish-yellow and sluggish.
Tiny waves resemble wrinkles in the forehead of the sky.
Reflected on the surface of the water.
Desolate, not to be read.
And the bottom of the river accumulates green frost, fish bones.
Disseminated. Melancholy chrysanthemum scent.
I didn't dare to go far, and standing on the shore, I remembered a lot.
Flowing past.
For example, my grandfather who fled from other provinces to here.
Strive against the stream. Found a place to take root and blossom.
For example, Widow Zhang, who drowned by mistake and Fengyue, and.
Her niece who eloped with Zhouzi.
For example, standing in the wind.
Look at the sunset as the old dead.
Oh, a snake of memory is that this autumn river is already twilight.
On the occasion of the review. A river full of scaly light.
It's all me. Tears clog the painful scars.
Red persimmons in October
The persimmons in October are as red as small graves.
Inside the nucleus. Whose mummy is it? To this day, the lantern light still shines.
Perhaps, this quiet warmth.
Better than micro-fireflies. It can be passed on to future generations, especially since it will light up.
Those stalkless darkness.
Maybe. There will be a night when it will be very white, and it will look like one.
Large snow-colored paper.
The shadow of the red persimmon is crushed.
But they are not.
The small tomb, but the red lantern, shone with the light of new life.
Author:Wang Yueqiang, a native of Beijing, currently lives in Chongqing. He is the author of many poetry collections such as "The Dawn of Words" and "The Wind is Whispering", and his poetry works have won many awards and been selected into a variety of important poetry anthologies, and he is the editor-in-chief of "Chinese Folk Poetry Reader 2018 Poetry Volume", and the president and editor-in-chief of "Chinese Poets" magazine.
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.