Broken pen and broken words modern poetry

time flies, and time flies.

Now,

When gazing at the railing alone again,

the breeze and the bright moon are still there, and

the small window and the low household lights are left.

the only thing,

is that people's hearts are different.

It is true that

the sadness of the past

is just like fog and smoke,

a finger is thin and cool.

And all those confusions,

are just flowers and water,

the difference between one thought and another.

It's a waste of thought.

since when,

all this sadness has disappeared.

When was it?

The tea was slightly tipsy and the dust settled.

I know,

someone, a certain period of time left,

followed,

took away some faint ignorance and tasteless.

The rest,

I need to

twist a ray of leisure,

pick up a few petals of flowers,

so, make a cup of tea that I can never finish.

The name of this tea,

should be "floating world".

Life is

fast and slow.

thus,

is long and short.

It's just that

after a long journey,

I still don't know.

Where can I find my dream?

where can I find people?

Just remember the storm,

It wet my first white dress.