How to write a poem about horses?

"Horse" Ouyang He Jiang Ma, one last dance in the romantic world, has entered the underworld from the image of childhood and is far away from the underworld. It is as soft and smooth as a wave. Horses, hidden material textures, physical lightning or rapidly decaying swords. The blind flame carried by lightning rolls like a bird's nest, stimulating and shaking the vast Yuan Ye and the sunset of the century. A horse has no dreams, so it runs around the clock. Where does the horse want to run from us? When the grass is lush, the horse goes against the light and exchanges limbs and brides with the rider at night. The horse's lyrical and dreamless body is just right for the rider, making everything silent and tasteless, succumbing to the original naked name, the embryonic form of heaven and the fantasy of hell contained in the more forbearing power. Broken strings are like a horse's head circling fingers, and silence makes distant songs shine with white salt. The horse's body dies when it leaves the string, and the echo outside the string does not exist for listening. Tired of praise and arrival, tired of their own immortality, eager to disappear, eager for the brevity of things. Horses bow out at night during the day, forget the night at night, and forget the rider in the rush. The horse, its overturning, its emptiness, goes deep into the mysterious operation of nature and the right angle between heaven and earth. It jumped into the body, the rider fell off his horse and died. The horse's eyes closed in the wound and became people's hometown. The horse has been gone for a long time, and there is no trace of the high dancer. The horse passed through the human body and turned into a dark cloud. The storm blew some roofs to pieces of horses. Time endures a horseshoe like a bird's back, while a horse treads on a bird, while Gao Chi is in the lower bound. A horseshoe is not a feather or a heart. An army crossing the sea sneaked into the horse's belly, and an empty city crying by the sea was still crying. Rotten wood in meat, beauty in beauty, does the horse miss the appearance of flowers? The midsummer on the blade has the radian and radius of a horse, with alternating wind and rain and sunshine, and the disease is unpredictable. Autumn is as wide and undulating as a horse's vital capacity, and the moon is as high as a horse's lung in a low-lying place. The horse galloped dreamlessly, and the trees were covered with blood along the way. The moon covered by trees lacks heartbeat or blood. The roots of the moon sleep on the green grass with the shadow of Ma Si, and the forehead and horseshoe touch the autumn clouds. The mood in autumn is longer than the passing time. Why does the forehead show sadness on the strings for longer than listening to it, indicating that the horse's running is inhaled by the roots? If the crazy horse wants to slow down, just like a sleeping man puts his hand on his heart, how can he explain the land behind him that needs to be explained? The horse in the sun is not as mysterious as the horse in the moon or the moon in the eyes of the horse. The flame in the middle of the month is like water overflowing the moon, and the blood turns to iron. A warm scenery in the era of cold weapons is a seed that cannot be buried in another era. It is colder than rain when it flashes, and licks the sky faster than flame. The weakest bone in the horse bone is wrapped around the root of the tree, and the root of the tree is just some illusions, broken stems, or some white snow, eager for crazy lips. The jade in the horse's bones, the footsteps of a month ago, is not an undead in itself, but it urges the undead to bloom. How many such psychics have lost their fever? From the romantic image of one last dance to the deep breath of jade, there is a more crazy passion buried? Lonely passers-by under the sky, why do horses become tears in their eyes? The ups and downs of the moon exchanged faces with horses. People can't expect the spilled blood to be a mirror hanging on the moon, just like the horse's vital capacity forms a storm on the land in late autumn, ignoring the warning from the roots. Wanderers don't have to return to their roots, hungry people don't have to harvest, and horses' dinners grow everywhere. A horse has no roots, so its Mercedes-Benz has no attachments. Faced with the hidden place-the desire to disappear reserved for the declining aristocratic mood and the desire for the transience of things, the horse did not prepare for the necessary sadness. Taking the king's crown from a man's head is like taking an isolated city from the bones of a horse. The old sadness poured out by many people has become a pet-like teaching, condensed in a permanent but helpless glance. The ominous silence turned its attention to the horse earlier than forgetting. The body of such a beautiful and dangerous horse needs another body to keep and betray. Horses and horses run in pairs on the earth. The horse's head hangs down and the setting sun shines high. Who burns in the sunset without becoming the conscience of the night? Fast is more than enough, but slow, the arrival of the horse delayed the time limit. Abandoned immortality is bent and scattered at a speed beyond immortality. Horse shadow passes through the depth of reproduction, with two waists overlapping and four hooves breaking through the forehead, thus forming a misunderstanding and encirclement in time. The horse ran to the end of love and offered God's marrow. However, our hearts are too easily broken to bear perfect things. Horses, favored by heaven, follow God's will, and the immortality of horses depends on non-horses. 1990 February 15 motherland, let's take dreams as horses. I want to be a loyal son and a short-lived lover in the distance. Like all poets who take dreams as horses, I want to walk the same road as martyrs and clowns. Everyone must put out the fire. I held the fire high by myself and let it blossom a big flower. Like all poets who take dreams as horses, I will spend my life with this fire in the boundless darkness. This fire is the language of the great motherland, and it is a Liangshan castle built of stones. Dream-oriented Dunhuang-In July, cold bones will lie like snow-white firewood and hard snow on the sacred mountain. Like all poets whose dreams are horses, I threw myself into the fire. These three are the lamps that imprison me, and everyone will walk through my knife to build the language of the motherland. I am willing to start from scratch, just like a poet who takes dreams as a horse. I would also like to sit at the bottom of the prison, and only I am the most relaxed. Decadence disappears at an irresistible speed. Only food is my treasure. I held her tightly. Like all poets who dream of horses, I am willing to bury myself in the mountains around me and look at the quiet home. Facing the river, I am infinitely ashamed. Time flies and I am tired. Like all poets who dream of horses, time is fleeting. There is not a drop left in the water. A horse died. After 1000 years, if I am reborn on the banks of the motherland, I will once again have rice fields in China and snow-capped mountains in the Zhou Dynasty. I will choose an eternal career. My job is to be the life of the sun. He is as brilliant and aboveboard as all poets who take dreams as horses. Finally, it was carried into the immortal sun by the gods at dusk. The sun is my name and the sun is the sun of my life. The dead body of poetry is buried at the top of the mountain-the Millennium Kingdom and I ride the phoenix and the dragon named "Horse" for 5,000 years-I will fail, but poetry itself will win with the sun (give two examples).