No.1 cemetery
I'm nothing,
You can't see my dancing soul.
I'm tangible,
Aging has become some lonely dust.
I am flying,
Out of perspective, out of words, out of time.
I have my own voice,
From time to time there are one or two clear birds singing.
Fair skin,
Like flowers in full bloom in green leaves.
Arranged and combined between green mountains and green waters,
Secretly fit yin and yang five lines of gossip.
You don't understand this,
Just like you don't want to understand the words on the tombstone.
Continue to deprive me of my life,
Occasionally, it will bring me into life.
Locked me in a coffin as dark as night,
Let me grow shrubs and weeds in the sun again.
Cemetery 2
Good as water, wandering as water, persistent as water, pervasive,
Water generally evaporates. Remains reduced to ashes in the fire,
Xishan Cemetery in Bundle. Mr. Storyteller patted the wood and roared, Lao Tzu
Twenty years later, he became a hero again. Twenty years later, you are managed.
Clean it up, pile it aside and send letters to all living relatives and friends.
Another 20 years. Twenty years later, he was asked again
Buy. No more or less than twenty years at a time. The storyteller took it away again.
Hearing the sound of wood, he said: there is no armor in the mountains, and the cold does not know the year. You are running water,
Countless time has passed, the empty time bought by valuation,
The spirit that has long since disappeared, the only space that is difficult to exist and constantly appreciates.
Just Qingming
Many years ago, Tomb-Sweeping Day, you went back to your hometown to visit the grave.
Drizzle, firecrackers.
A high voice and a low voice surprised many birds.
This Tomb-Sweeping Day, eldest brother, is on his way to Shenzhen.
We agreed to eat meat and drink together and talk about some interesting things about our hometown and childhood.
Pull, pull, maybe we'll get old.
A faded flower basket on the grave
A few years ago, during the Qingming Festival, we hung some cut white strips on the grave.
Now, send the decorated flower baskets.
In fact, these changes are irrelevant.
In the past few years, my father stood in front of my grandfather's grave.
White hair is more and more like those flying white notes.
Rustling in the wind.
Perhaps, after many years of Qingming,
Our brothers standing in front of our father are like three neatly arranged flower baskets.
Let time slowly erode and fade.