Open quietly inward and outward.
The abyss is dark.
There is water, wind and light.
Staring at the cold door
Eyes wandering on the door frame
Master, this wood comes from a secluded forest.
A few days passed in an instant.
Late at night, the patient who quarreled all day.
Sleep quietly.
The sound of sleeping.
I think they are just a group of children.
In the moonlight, a pair of rough hands
This is a white iris with a broken stem
When it is about to wither.
Take it off.
In the corner of the courtyard wall
The tangled iris is still growing greedily.
Swallow milk crazily
Until the earth becomes hard and crimson.
Sometimes they are eager and full of dreams.
Swaying graceful posture.
Dialogue with each other, open competition.
But darkness will eventually drown them.
This iris in my hand
As bright as the moon
She looked down at the madhouse and the earth.
She sprinkled cold light on my face.