Occasionally drifting through a few strands of sadness.
The dreamer is sleeping.
A muttering traveler
Looking at the story in the mud
Mountains stand in the distance.
A few strands of solemnity floated before my eyes.
Wave dunes across the street.
This must be the masterpiece of the wind.
I am sitting in an abandoned factory.
Now it's like a chimney on the roof.
Raindrops hit my cheeks.
The same knock on the dreamer.
I know whose spring is coming.
Gray sky
Like my gray mood.
I saw the depressed faces of the eliminated people.
I also saw the lonely expression of the loser.
I see the happy face of the reaper.
I also see stories of mixed feelings of sadness and joy emerge one after another.
The mountain breeze from the northwest lifted my sleeve.
With my high-spirited soul
I haven't had time to rehearse.
So I flew.
I am like a cheap kite.
I am floating freely.
And floating around.
Modern Poetry in the Afternoon 2 1
This afternoon is a fermentation spit.
Lazy sunshine on the path,
The road is shining,
It is gold from the sun.
The sky-blue balcony was painted with golden glaze.
The tea set is on the round table.
The coffee on the table is bubbling with fragrance.
Warm smoke is like a flowing pearl,
Slowly flowing into the clouds.
The sky spit out a hazy cloud,
Like a continuous network of Zhang Sisi,
Net the sky.
The ladder is very long. ...
Straight into the foggy sky.
two
I wonder if there are any instructions this afternoon.
Anyway, the door of heaven is closed.
Don't breathe a word,
Seal up the rotten quilt in the room.
Ecstasy ... The woman next door hummed,
Like a lark, panicked and out of tune.
Make a cup of tea, and I will be the prince in the cup.
Floating leaves, curled on hot wrists,
Cutting the thread is as heavy as a torch in the crown.
I lit my beginning,
Invasion of the land of dreams, division,
Tea residue planted in the afternoon,
Don't look, you know it's poison.
In the afternoon, Modern Poetry 3 became popular again.
It's raining again.
In your stop-and-go memory
Do you remember those idle afternoons?
Make a cup of light tea.
Listen to a lonely old song
Think of a little worry.
Silently watching the rain in the afternoon.
The rain is big and small.
Sometimes gentle and sometimes violent.
Sometimes it leans with the wind.
Sometimes downstream.
Raindrops dripping from the eaves
Like a broken pearl
Fall down one by one
Fall on the crisp marble
Make melodious and beautiful notes
This music of nature
Sounds interesting
That rain
Under the hearty.
It washes away the dirt of the world.
It also washed away the anger and grievances you suppressed in your heart.
And unspeakable pain
That rain
Come to this hot and dry world
Brought a hint of coolness
Let this noisy city in an instant
Become so silent
When the rain stopped.
You are still in a trance.
This rain
How did you get here so fast?
But soon disappeared without a trace.
You'll get suspicious
Is the rain really coming?
But look at the wanton cross-flow of water
It seems to announce its recent visit to you.
When the sun comes out.
There is a dog with short legs
Passing by your door
It stopped and turned its head.
It's right across from your eyes.
It uses melancholy eyes.
Watching you in a daze
Maybe it knows your heart.
quick
It was shouted away by its owner.
Just leave you.
Still just sitting there.
Let the thoughts drift to the unknown distance
Those boring afternoons
Maybe you remember.
Maybe you've forgotten.