Author: hedging
Dedicate poems
I want to dedicate this poem to my country of poetry;
I dedicate this poem to my motherland.
If you come back, the countryside will be destroyed, Hu Bugui?
Tao Qian.
Suddenly in summer, cicadas go crazy.
The woodcutter of poetry.
Dead, dead
The flames burned violently.
Lost happiness, lost happiness
All the real illusions, the illusory truth
: autumn, winter
Even spring warms the blooming flowers.
A stranger with a pool of blood on his head
Look at the sea and think long.
God's poem
I'm already asleep-
After my death.
I won't die again-
An old man who collects ashes.
Will reappear, take me back to the village and throw me into the farmland.
The misty capital lit incense.
The throne of poetry sprouted.
Meditate on all cliffs and barren graves
Ignoring the cry of theocracy and money
Oh, I'm a vertical in the Tang Dynasty.
To the Nile, to lakes in England.
The quartet in April saw me laugh and cry.
The 5,000-year-old wasteland has sheep and lost hooves.
run for it
What flowers are in full bloom and what rivers are running?
This pile of sons of mankind with only skeletons left.
God doesn't know their origin.
I can feel their haste.
The grassland on the Pamirs is lovely green.
-Huang Depeng School
It washed down the sacred "Santa Maria"
Into the fire of July.
A "nine-leaf tree" crushed by wind and thunder
Burn half the country
Burn into a torch. Standing on the cliff.
Give world peace.
Heroes resurrected by friends.
I didn't expect the Millennium Yellow River.
It's too dirty.
The second Santa Maria has not sailed since.
For years, I didn't expect a girl in a white hat
It's still shameless and despicable to make peace and make money in the future.
No tears, no bathing.
Don't even change your clothes
Her clothes were shabby and her skin was bare.
She looked down at the flashy barricade.
But to lead people to wear masks and visit.
"Ten manuscripts of the Prince of Poetry have been sent to the magazine for two years, nine of which have sunk into the sea, and another pile of expensive ones has also been received.
List of publications "
He became more and more angry and anxious.
He's looking for the Tang Dynasty-
A dynasty in which everything was covered with trees and grass.
He is putting on the Iliad.
Looking for his devout followers:
What about Shen Zhi's poems?
Life makes everything obsolete.
Life makes everything barren.
Happy singers wear poverty and go to heaven.
There is a hole in the skull, which overflows with light.
Above heaven, summer burns everything.
At the end of everything is Tieshan Empire.
Without a singer, life belongs to a skeleton.
The upcoming prince of poetry died under the horse.
Dreaming of no pain, sleeping soundly.
The prince of poetry no longer writes poetry. He can't.
Beautiful, all beautiful.
The backlight of his bile
I can't write the rest.
A low-key singer
Let life grow old
Let everything be desolate.
When I die-
No more death.
Take me to the altar of Hargil.
Exile at the source of the Yangtze River
Is this a mistake?
That's not a mistake!
The same woodcutter.
Cultivate yourself and reap yourself.
"God's poem? I
It's summer. "In the eyes of cicadas.
In summer, let the water meet like fire.
Then. I went crazy before I knew it.
Climb into the blood of the prince of poetry
Take a permanent trip, swim back and swim over.
Looking for blood-red light
Suddenly interrupted by the sound of hooves, hooves.
Lift your tail-
Cicada died under the horse.
With the prince of poetry
Was carried away by a woodcutter.
Burn to ashes, fly over the village, and die in the ashes.
From then on, I learned to be rich. come
Sing in front of the robin, sing a sad poem
If you are thirsty, you can break branches and suck blood faster.
A group of ants. Oh, it's surrounded.
Bound, arrested, crazy cicada
Helpless blocked the ant nest.
Eat in groups
The prince of poetry can't write. heaven
Prince Shi's head is empty and full of sunshine.
"After I die-
No more death.
There is no God in heaven. What about the low-key singer?
That's right.
Let life grow old
Let everything be desolate. "
The poem prince can't go on.
Woodcutters and people who carry firewood for poetry are empty-handed.
Go back, go to sleep, sleep soundly-
He knocked on the door of Nantong.
Bow in heaven
Pray for God: Power Desire? Money? (Abandoning the Poet God)
I don't know anything about it.
The absurdity and shame of all this.
He can't tell the earth from heaven.
The night lit up the only head.
It seems that there is a dazzling village on the black land.
Look up by the awning
Like countless nights in the past.
No temperature, no color.
A desire for fertility
He collected the trembling corpse powder.
Shed sad tears
What about Shen Zhi's poems?
When I die-
No more death.
The prince's body was finally mixed between the woodcutter and the woodcutter who recited poems with firewood.
As transparent as sea water.
As warm as a star
This ruined Dunhuang, the finger of the giant Buddha, fell to heaven.
Shine golden light, golden light
Through the Gobi, into the hukou, and into the low-lying Hehan, wandering westward (ellipsis).
Dunhuang, Dunhuang, in the arms of Jerusalem
I can't lift my head. I feel so inferior. I should!
The kingdom of poetry is on the verge of disillusionment.
Poetry became a waste of words, and singers were imprisoned.
Raise the prison wall, and your mind will ferment into stagnant water.
Sitting alone in Bixi, fishing in the sunset at night.
Ah, the sunset comes from mountains and rivers, hundreds of millions of years ago! Old, refurbished
The Prince of Poetry hasn't woken up yet-
Never. He firmly believes in the secret of heaven.
Pray for the fairy who can't pay her debts.
The fairies waved around.
Disappear in the desolate mountains
This is an eternal night.
Blood oozed from the eyes like ingots.
Then it will turn to ashes.
Fly to the horizon, fly to the horizon
It's crazy to have cicadas
The fairies came down from the mountain and put their lives on earth.
Live a mortal life
Ah, what is this world?
The prince of poetry is dead, above heaven.
Will no longer die-in the Ming dynasty, he
be reborn
Like a bee among thorns.
Believe in sweet eternity
Like snowflakes, lust.
Tiger skin temperature
Oh, what a world this is.
Prince Poetry is too poor to buy love.
"Tang Shu (ordinary), you are a flower.
Flowering period 1000 flowers! "
It may be longer, or it may never reopen.
This is a barren world of poetry.
Suddenly in summer, cicadas go crazy.
The nightingale died at the top of the pyramid.
The lonely fisherman in poetry is lonely.
Drown oneself in the water