Poetry and short stories with positive literature and art

Near winter: the wind blows the last remaining temperature of sparrows to the sunset. It's almost winter, and we are not born for divine prophecy. Let's go! Walk through the arch made by the hunchback old man and leave the key; Walk through the narrowest ghost hall, leaving nightmares and all the unnecessary things. We didn't owe anything, even our clothes and shoes were sold, leaving the last rations and tinkling money behind. Sing a song last winter! No blessings, no prayers. We will never go back to decorate the leaves painted green again. In the season of losing temptation, the fruit that cannot be brewed will not become sour water. Roll a cigarette with a newspaper, let the dark clouds be as loyal as a dog, follow closely like a dog, and erase all the lies of the sun. It's winter, don't fall in the green * *, let it be. Don't repeat the spell of thunder and lightning, so that thoughts are omitted as a string of raindrops. Or under the supervision of noon, you walk across the street like a prisoner, stepping on your own shadow; Or hide behind a tent, stutter and recite the words of the dead, and perform the joy of being abused. As winter approaches, rivers freeze and roads begin to clear. Crows hatch the moon on pebbles on the beach. Everyone knows who's awake. Dreams will come to the earth and precipitate into morning cream to replace those tired stars. The evil time will stop, and the iceberg will continue to be a statue of a generation.