Chapter one: a modern poem describing October dream,
The wind is rustling,
People who walk alone in the world of mortals,
Wandering in the street with the first light,
High into the Star Language Building,
That one,
A window you can't understand better,
When the north wind falls,
That string of sentimental wind chimes,
Falling on the emotional steps of the world of mortals,
Thinking of Cang Sang's sufferings and joys,
With the ups and downs of dreams,
Telling the sincere passion and sadness of life,
Meteor shower,
Through the moonlight,
In the desolation,
I wander alone on the edge of my dream,
now
Lonely people rush about the world of mortals,
I can't remember the dawn in my heart anymore.
Sincere scars,
Can't wait for the expression of dreams,
In loneliness,
Towards the dry ancient riverbed of Taoer River,
Quietly feeling the conversation between the wind and Cher.
Since then,
Love is also hazy,
Dreams are rustling,
The poet is speechless,
There is only one yellow leaf telling what?
Chapter two: Modern dream-chanting poems stand at the source of the West Liaohe River and look out.
Layers of green hills blocked my view.
I listened to the tinkling spring.
Echoes in the mountains
My idea began.
Sail with a dream
Stand at the foot of the red mountain and look up.
The footprints of our ancestors were printed on the red rocks.
I remember slash-and-burn
That piece of broken pottery
record
Dreams 6000 years ago
Standing on the shore of the Bohai Sea and looking out.
The great ship in my heart has been carrying dreams.
Prepare to set sail
The waves are the smiles of the sea.
Those seagulls
Will guide me
Correct route
I stood on the deck and looked at the mainland.
Dare not look at you.
A vicissitudes face
Mom.
Please don't be sad.
I'm never coming back.
I'm-
Sail with a dream
Chapter three: Modern dream-chanting poems stand at the source of Xiliao River and look out.
Layers of green hills blocked my view.
I listened to the tinkling spring.
Echoes in the mountains
My idea began.
Sail with a dream
Stand at the foot of the red mountain and look up.
The footprints of our ancestors were printed on the red rocks.
I remember slash-and-burn
That piece of broken pottery
record
6,000 years ago' dream'
Standing on the shore of the Bohai Sea and looking out.
The great ship in my heart has been carrying dreams.
Prepare to set sail
The waves are the smiles of the sea.
Those seagulls
Will guide me
Correct route
I stood on the deck and looked at the mainland.
Dare not look at you.
A vicissitudes face
Mom.
I'm never coming back.
I'm-
Sail with a dream
Chapter Four: A modern poem describing dreams. The long wind in the dream passes through the dust and holds up the past.
Pick up the lamp after drinking,
I saw a year of fragrant grass and a year of green horseshoes;
I saw a sad garden, with wandering souls singing softly;
I saw the face of Yueyang Tower unchanged in Rainy Rain.
I saw the hairy crabs in Yangcheng Lake, with a green shell and a white belly, golden claws and yellow hair.
I saw Wu Peng's boat slouching on the water, with a jar on the bow and a book on the stern;
I saw a scholar-like man sitting by the water in Wuzhen, sipping Longjing and playing with the teapot in his hand.
Jiangnan, it rains one after another, and the secret of a thousand years is hidden inside, just like an embroidery needle falling on the ground. In splash-ink landscape painting, Jiangnan is hidden in the depths of ink.
I was awakened. I slowly opened my eyes, and the sun was warm.
The ward was quiet and nobody was there.
Only the ticking wall clock accompanies me.
In a trance, I can't tell if I'm still dreaming.
The years flowing in this life, the scenery engraved in memory, and those young and frivolous people related to youth are all so strange and familiar.
Sure enough, I am still old. When people are old, they love nostalgia.
Accidentally touched an old nerve,
Those unknown memories swept through in a wet way,
I can't stand a little dodge.
From Jiangnan to Taiwan Province Province,
This is the distance from a young man to an old man, neither long nor short.
Jiangnan, Jiangnan, Jiangnan!
How uneasy the young heart is. My heart itches when the green leather train rumbles by.
I long to escape, I long for the distance,
I think that is the proper attitude of youth.
When I crossed the vast sea and came to this shore. I thought I was just a passer-by I never thought that the chaotic war blocked this "shallow strait."
After the Golden Gate shelling, the 1992 talks and the struggle between the blue and green parties, I worked hard in Taiwan Province Province for half my life and finally got a house. There is a big pagoda tree in the yard. The leaves rustle when the wind blows.
Sitting in the shade of the tree, I narrowed my eyes and saw the sun through the layers of leaves.
The wind turns over my book page by page, and the thread of life is clearly visible.
Can't go back! Can't go back!
Without whitewashed tiles and bridges, I am in a strange place.
It's not bad here
The "salt water bee cannon" in the salt water area and the "sky lantern" in New Taipei City are so lively.
How amazing is the hold dance of Gaoshan people and Ah Mei's pentatonic scale.
I will also go to worship Mazu, put a whole month of lake light on the "bonsai" and do Pudu.
Every folk custom is an unprecedented experience.
Beef noodles, glutinous rice flour and oyster omelet are always booming in the night market.
Taiwanese opera and puppet show are inextricably linked with Huangmei opera and Yue opera.
Indeed, it's not bad here.
However, when I stood on the top floor of Taibei 10 1, I saw the whole Taiwan Province Province bustling and brightly lit.
I thought in the cold wind that when I was young, I could take a pot of "Zhuangyuanhong" and dip it in Hui ink with a lake pen. The fragrance was overflowing, and I spilled ink on the huge rice paper. It's so unpleasant!
However, I have returned to the misty rain south of the Yangtze River for countless times in my dreams, but every time I wake up, I only leave wet memories, and I feel sad in a trance.
The nurse came in to give me an injection, and I gently closed my eyes. Many pictures ended like movies. The vicissitudes of black-and-white freeze-frame are meaningful, and in the distant forgetfulness, they are lonely and hesitant.
As time goes by, the spring breeze of a year turns the thoughts of a year into wine.
I really hope this dream will never wake up.
Take dreams as horses and take origami fans to the south of the Yangtze River.
Daisy tiles, water walls, lush white space.
The moon in the dream, the apricot blossom lane in the dream, and the blue calico in the dream.
Will you laugh at me for being stupid? I'm just helpless, there is no other way.
Because dreams are the only way to reach your gentle arms.