Modern poems written by oneself

wasteland

How far is it?

How blue is the sky?

My ideal is shattered.

Looking forward to tomorrow's sunshine

I stood in the wilderness,

Shout loudly,

Jesus Christ,

Light my torch at dawn,

Let me be the sun of this land.

Dark clouds giggle.

Towering mountains and rivers

Knocked down by a fishtail

The leaves were picked.

Later, his body became old.

When you open your eyes

Has been sent back to the south.

Migratory birds are pigments and water.

It's color and fly ash.

This is a ship, a plant of Artemisia

It's a piece of paper and an armchair strategist.

A verse

When he was in a coma

Even everything in the world.

When he is sober.

Actually, it's just consciousness, running in the world.