Classic modern prose poem 1: Originally from Houshan, I was occasionally a guest in the front yard, drunk dancing in pavilions and half a book, sitting in a well and saying that the sky is wide.
Great ambitions play fame and fortune, and the sea fights for good and evil. When it comes to lack of money, it is wrong to accuse Gan Kun.
-Laugh at yourself
Night is like a hole in the blue, an impenetrable edge, an impenetrable world. I want to hold on to the hands that pulled me ashore, and I try to hide my helplessness. If I can do this, if I can turn around and erase the transparency of the years, I will not die alone and live up to the affection of youth.
Life is like a storm. After that, no one will stay where they are, come and go until they suffocate. I don't know when some green flowers will bloom in front of the grave full of loess. We are all trying to run and find our courage. Perhaps fate always makes people stumble and see the dawn, but those regrets that appear too early have not changed the sadness that should have subsided. We are a little old, but we are still decadent, persistent, crying and self-pitying.
With my initial heart, I lost myself, wandering around and wandering in the same place. Do I regret it? No, am I angry? No, am I desperate? No, even I can't give an accurate answer. These days, I have a very relaxed life. I just accepted the trip I should have gone. I don't insist on what I will get. Perhaps, this life is no longer long.
When I see through life and death, when I realize what fate is, when I format everything, I am still willful, not a puppet of fate, not making do with life. How can I admit those original things? I always say that the more I look forward to it, the more cruel it is, licking those original scars until the blood seeps into the skin bit by bit or overflows the surface. In the cold wind of laughter, there is no bit of pain.
Life is full of hatred. I began to accept the incompleteness of the past, the original self, yesterday that I shouldn't have accepted, and the passage of years. Suddenly found that the so-called eternity is just the world after death, so empty and gone, not the end, but the beginning. Why are we alive, but there are more than 10% experiences and time in the six divisions of the wheel of karma, which may be fictitious and life may be doomed. Whether you remember it or not, it's just the last quicksand of elegance. As a person, perhaps from crying at birth to finally letting go, from grasping to letting go, in just a few decades, my fingers are gone.
Strange, only blame the vast starry sky, we are just one of the little stars, floating out of the so-called city; Strange, only blame each other as strangers, from birth to death, just to repay the debts of previous lives, the fate of this life; Strange, only blame the unique love of human beings is not omnipotent, when it became a kind of harm. People, born cold and heartless, have created so many relationships. After a lifetime of life and death, a lifetime of fame and fortune, a lifetime of so-called process, they will never see each other again in the blink of an eye.
The so-called treasure is just happiness, and the so-called scarcity is just another waste. Natural laws are always so transparent that we can't decide. We have to abide by them, and we have to be entangled in chains.
I must be blind,
I must be crazy,
Day after day, there is a space to fill.
Youyou!
Maybe one day, I will say goodbye, goodbye to everything, goodbye to those cruel and forbearing. I have never been afraid. I am afraid that the final outcome will be sorry for my efforts and satirize my sadness.
Looking back from autumn to winter, I can't afford to climb on my knees, turning around and looking back, empty, what is left?
Tired of life, tired of redemption, tired of those original dreams from the depths of the soul. I don't want to get involved in the whirlpool. The ravine on the other side is full of Datura.
I was still cruising yesterday, still planning a beautiful fate, still bidding farewell to the empty fate, and finally deviated from the track in my infatuation with youth. Why even the thin air is sunny, and why does it rain like a meteor falling from a burst bank? I traveled thousands of miles across Wan Li, and I shed tears in every insomnia, which I forgot again and again. ......
Nan said: "Buddha is the heart, Tao is the bone, Confucianism is the table, and we look at the world generously." Skills are in hand, you can be in it, think in your mind, and be carefree. "
Oh, the past dust fault still refuses to give up. Those sorrows of the world of mortals are just that the mountains and rivers are too lonely and the misty rain is too silent. Even if you don't eat this earthly fireworks, time and space are always intertwined and lonely. It's a pity that such a beginning and mistake are all wrong.
I miss the past, smile, miss the distant past, miss the bookstore I passed by, miss the snowy winter, miss the black-and-white silent film shown, and at 12 am, I pay homage to myself.
Open the old photos of time, I'm not in them anymore.
Classic Modern Short Prose Poems Part II: Women are as beautiful as spring. My fair lady looks like a peach blossom, and the country is very beautiful. She comes from misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River. She wore a thin red dress, drew a arch eyebrows and a faint red lip, which looked beautiful. Put pen to paper as picturesque as Jiangnan, splash ink and drizzle to moisten the lotus pond, and peach blossoms laugh at the spring breeze.
She has the same mind as spring breeze, the same age as spring flowers and the same mind as spring rain. In the misty and rainy ancient city, there came such a faint woman without makeup, with all kinds of amorous feelings, gentle as water and smiling like a flower. Holding a book, the story in the book has been turned a thousand times, but it doesn't turn according to people's spring scenery, and spring rhyme enters the heart.
Spring breeze gently lifted her black hair, which fluttered gently like catkins dancing with the wind. My heart is floating in the wind. Leaning alone under the porch, my heart feels like spring, and the spring rain melts my heart. Those layers of flowers are filled with many tender memories. I missed the same love as spring, but I wrote the same word in my heart. In the article, the garden is full of flowers, the sky is blue, the water is clear, and the blooming heart is as bright as safflower.
For her, writing is the spirit in the spring breeze, the white clouds in the blue sky, the swan in the green water, the coolness in the drizzle and the charm in the safflower. It's a vow made in love, sweet and warm, the heartache of love, and a tall and uplifting figure who left in the misty rain.
Women are as hot as summer. Frank temperament, optimistic attitude, sunny smile. She came from the tropical rain forest to the misty rain land in the south of the Yangtze River. She is wearing a cool white shirt, a pair of blue denim shorts and a brown hat. She looks like Brigitte Lin when she was young, with a sunny face, a vibrant face and a the legendary swordsman face.
She has a lotus-like mind, a lotus-like age and a sunny heart. When I came to the ancient city of Yu Yan, I melted her fiery heart into a faint ethereal and elegant. Holding a book, sitting by the lotus pond, watching the infinite lotus leaves, enjoying the shyness of lotus flowers and smelling the faint lotus fragrance.
Lotus flowers bloom vigorously, like a crystal clear heart. That year, according to people in the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, they met those eyes as warm as her heart and gave her heart. If it was only the first time, it caused a stir of life. In the mountains and rivers, they left hugs, passionate kisses, romantic footprints and lotus memories. Love in misty rain is as young and rosy as lotus, and as intoxicating as lotus.
For her, it was a lotus flower, the lotus flower in the drizzle in Xia Feng, recalling the lingering past, just like the beauty of love at first sight and the crystal-clear flowers in the sun. Write down your own story, write down your first heartache, and write down the time when you lingered around the world.
Women are as melancholy as autumn. Weak and sensitive, tears like autumn rain, heart like duckweed. She is a typical Jiangnan woman. Wearing a purple dress and holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering in a long rain lane. Yes, she is the woman with an oil-paper umbrella written by Dai Wangshu. There really is such a poem, which was specially written for such a woman.
She has Lin Weiyin's talent, Zhang Ailing's lonely heart and Sanmao's persistent love. Autumn rain, fluttering, fell on her face. She walked in the rain lane in the south of the Yangtze River with an umbrella, like rain falling in her heart. Things change, and no enemy can win the sad past; How can passing clouds cover up a sensitive and beautiful mood of a poetess? There is nothing like a trace of melancholy and pride in a woman's heart.
Brilliant fireworks, a flash in the pan, in the wind, in the rain, in the fiery maple leaves. Full reading of poetry books, melancholy talents and meaningful literary thoughts have turned into beautiful words, meaningful and sad stories and beautiful and clever poems in autumn.
Women are as pure as winter snow. Pure as ice and jade, with a face like pear and a heart like snow. It also snows heavily in Jiangnan in winter. The north wind is whistling, and it is snowing all over the sky. You can't see the sky or the ground. Wearing a red coat, my cheeks are red with cold, my dark eyes are charming, my skin is like snow, and my heart is like snow.
She has the same heart as snow, the same strength as red plum and the same feelings as drifting snow. The scarf around her neck is as white as snow. This scarf once had two pure hearts. Build a rainbow bridge between our hearts. It's snowing. Two people wear the same scarf, a pair of gloves, and one person wears a pair. Two people sitting on the roof watching the snow together, their promises are like snow, and their hearts are like snow; Tears are like snow, injuries are like snow.
Not close, once beautiful; I can't stand being hurt. I once swore an oath, leaving only sadness and good memories. The past is like frost and the feelings are like plum. In sadness, I saw the red plum in full bloom, so rosy, so brilliant and so dazzling! This is the color of blood. People have bones and blood besides water. Afraid of what? ! What was once scattered and hurt has already melted with the snow, and it is the red plum that is getting closer and closer to the line of sight. One day, others will see in her eyes not only the heart as white as snow, but also the fiery plum blossom, burning, burning and burning again!
For her, words are snowflakes flying all over the sky, warm scarves and plum blossoms full of blood. Words have entered her life, and words are in her heart like snow. The beautiful snow scene was once in gloves, and there are red berries far and near.
Women are beautiful, as beautiful as spring, summer, autumn and winter; Beautiful writing, through spring, summer, autumn and winter. When women tell endless stories, they record flowers, autumn moon, fireworks, joys and sorrows, beautiful and sad flowers with words.
Writing with a woman's pen is like spring when a hundred flowers blossom; It is a beautiful summer like a lotus flower; It is autumn when it is rainy; This is a quiet and snowy winter. Words are the tenderness of spring; It's just an intoxicating time in summer; It is a meaningful literary reflection in autumn; It used to be a warm wait in winter.
Words, in women's hearts, are a red flower, gorgeous years; Words, in a woman's heart, are a lotus flower, which smells refreshing; Words, in women's minds, are an oil-paper umbrella that covers up the melancholy; Words, in women's hearts, are a red plum dotted with heavy snow.
When those beautiful women describe spring and summer in words, splash ink in autumn and winter in words, describe the best feeling in their hearts in words, and sprinkle their thoughts like lotus flowers in words, then words are the most beautiful flowers in their lives, the deepest place for their stories, and the fragrance of their lives.