Elegant and shining with the poet's thoughts.
Stick to numbness without losing the most painful memory.
Heartbroken.
Pain is your unchangeable mark.
Loneliness at night attracts Xuan Yue to give you the purest heart.
That little bit fell into the mind of spring.
Now it is a rare story of ice crystals.
Drift into your tears.
Your tears
Transparency reflects the idea of hurting the soul.
Pause and groan show you another philosophy.
Malicious, ugly, boneless lies and the coronation of a nervous top hat
Yin Wei's words are standing in front of you.
The dwarf of the soul
All your plots and intentions can no longer swallow the tears of the injured.
Those tears dripping into the water
Now it has become bitter sea water.
Into tears of sea trials.
Poet's Tears Modern Poetry 2 Poets are called poets because they are obsessed with more beautiful or sad things besides their normal study and work, and like to wander between words, an all-encompassing love, smelling their ink and dancing their fragrance.
The rhythmic heart, like a butterfly, flies to the sea of flowers, revels in the horizon and is brewed by bees. Day after day, the cold gradually disappeared, and the summer gradually drifted away. Finally, this excellent work floated around like a fairy, showing it to its lover and those who loved it, and making those who loved it linger and revel in it. The person you love deeply must be a poet who has devoted a lot of blood and sweat.
It is true that the publication of every work is not easy, especially the excellent works, such as Zhouyi, Zhong You's Spring and Autumn Annals, Qu Yuan's Li Sao, the blind Mandarin, Sun Tzu's Fat Feet, and the revision of Sun Tzu's Art of War, have not violated Lu Lan, Han Fei's Biography of Moving the Capital and Qin. When the poet pays you a thousand lines of poetry, he or she has already paid a thousand lines of tears; When he (she) touches you, he (she) has been begging in front of the Buddha for 500 years; When you stand and look at the scenery in the article, he (she) has struggled out of the trough and stood as a beautiful image; When you lament life, he (she) is heartbroken at the end of the world!
Maybe we are amazed at the author's words and fragments, but sometimes how precious is that short inch of time? The ink is elegant, charming and fragrant, but: "You can see the words I typed on the keyboard, but you can't see the tears I dropped on the keyboard." Because these seemingly simple truths must be experienced before they can be deeply understood.
In life, poetry is that you are sitting here, which is a kind of distance. With poetry, you can see the flowers blooming on the other side, and you can see your lover in the distance with poetry. You can also see the Iraqi who sells the West Building alone and the lonely figure of the window standing by, and you can also see the bloody sunset deep in the desert. The poet's journey is spiritual and beautiful scenery, often in strange mountains and rivers; Extremely strong music is often in a sad rhyme. If the poet's pen is not full of blood, how can he touch his people? Reading poetry is like tasting tea, and tasting tea is like tasting people. If life is like a song, then every poet is the lyrics of that song. The rhythm in the poem is the poet's dancing wings, and the glittering phosphorescence is the tears carved by the poet with a knife.
Tagore said: "I am the earth scorched by the hot summer sun, tired and thirsty, and my life is exhausted." I am waiting for your nectar to fall at night, and I will open my heart and suck it quietly. I am eager to repay you with songs and flowers, but I have nothing but a heartfelt sigh through the hay. " Yes, the poet has nothing but a sighing heart and a clover. If that heart exists, it will be moved, sometimes blurred, like spring rain; Sometimes hot, like the hearts of lovers in love; Sometimes longing, like burning faith, never becomes indifferent, lingering in the fleeting time, or weeping, or rejoicing, or thinking deeply. Weave tassels with one hand and convey love with the other. In the boundless wilderness, under the cold sky, floating is the soul of poetry.
The poet is both a shooter and Bai Niao. If you accidentally knock on the door of loneliness, it will fall on your heart and become a ruin. Xi Murong said: "If you are a tearful shooter, I am Bai Niao who will never dodge again in my life, just waiting for the arrow to break through the air and shoot into my broken heart;" If you are the only shooter in the world who can hurt me, I am all your youth, all unforgettable joys and sorrows. "The poet roams in the ocean of time in his dream. In the boundless darkness, fate is like a sea breeze, blowing the boat of youth, and writing the loneliness of the world with a stormy mast.
Xu Zhimo loved Lin and wrote the immortal poem Farewell to Cambridge. Lin misses Xu Zhimo's April Day on Earth. San Mao lost Jose and rolling in the deep, tearfully telling "how many flowers fall in a dream"; Pushkin's devotion to Baku Nina sings the flavor of his first love "yevgeni onegin". Then, the poet clung to his sadness and was never comforted. I have only seen this kind of sadness with my own eyes, but looking back, my heart is broken, but I have to piece it together bit by bit, waiting for a miracle, waiting for my heart to bloom again!
Love is the end of the world, love is endless, ink is fragrant, and plain pen writes farewell. Love has no reason. The poet's pen was covered with tears. Goethe said: "He who has not eaten bread with tears does not know the taste of life." Full of emotion and spirit is the beauty of a poet. However, your tears cannot be interpreted or explained in the material world. Only appreciate, lest blasphemy; Just follow, it will spoil the fun.
Poet, if you are a mountain, I would like to be running water; If you are a cape, I would like to be the ends of the earth; If you are a desert, I wish it were spring; If you were a candle, I would like to be a moth and burn the last tear with you until it disappears!