Retrospective modern poetry

Retrospective Modern Poetry 1

Ahead, layers of clouds cover the fog.

As always, I am swimming against the current.

There are phosphorus fires, Transform the primitive village

The common people and the emperors are like dust

Turn your eyes into arrows and shoot them

After trying a thousand times, you are finally disappointed

It’s just the extreme end of hearing

The fragments of time rattle

God, grace the hut by the river

Who meticulously painted the portrait of Zhao Gongming

It is like saying that he was a robber who killed the rich and gave to the poor

He saved the dying villages one after another

He came and went like the wind, frightening the generals, ministers and princes< /p>

Gradually being deified, I offered him offerings and burned incense

Going upstream, I caught a ray of moonlight

Could the evolution of gods be based on the soil of reality

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Those things piled up with words

are not as realistic and clear as legends and songs

Faintly visible, the not-so-distant future

Even bigger. God, omnipresent kindness

Going upstream, the sun looms in the clouds

Catching lies or truth, I cast a huge net to trace modern poetry 2

Dreams

I insist on imagining a retractable door

Always ready to block my eyes into a distant dream

Not to be corroded

Listen to the interesting sounds swallowed by the beach

I am still trying to write a salty or light poem

Stop the words on your fingertips and listen to the rain

There is another The longing that the identity is not far away

But no one knows the passing rain

Has been lonely into the posture of a sculpture

The eyes that have been tough for a thousand years

Still fantasizing about having sex with you

Looking back

That grassland

Has turned into snow

Memories

I carefully wrapped a game

Afraid of the broken soul

Cutting through the long quiet night

There is a lingering feeling in the singing The slight coolness on my fingertips

Deep in the thick night color

I started to hide and seek alone

The busy daytime

Covering up Too much confusion

Even at night

It is difficult to find myself

And those crisp memories

Looking back

I try my best not to write poems in the first person

And the flame

has burned to the commanding heights of the night

I will no longer cover up the attack of a language

Let the ethereal quotes open the windows

I will never shatter the crystal dreams

That night, I stayed in one corner

Let the remnants of the corner

bring me back to the past