The street lamps in the dim street reflect you and me
Turn around and say goodbye
There is only yesterday
You can't see you can't see
Tears have flooded my cheeks
No vows, no promises
Passing by quietly
Do you feel like before
You and I are not now
? Do you remember
I don't know, I don't know
At the moment of turning around, You held up the same cold ending alone
but you and I shed different tears
There is a noisy market in front of us
Will it be as beautiful as long as you work hard
Sweet wine and charming waltz
A person walks sadly
No one knows that I once cried
I left a heartbreaking moment here
The maple tree in the same place
The fate is the same. We met again
but only silently brushed each other
without a smile or meeting to say goodbye
My heart welled up with loss again
Bright maple leaves landed on my toes
only to find that it was autumn
Do you know
I remembered the beauty of that autumn again
It belonged to our memory. Yesterday, I was a classical modern poet. Children are fish
living in rivers, lakes and seas
feeding horses, chopping wood and traveling around the world
giving warm names to every river and mountain
telling every lightning all our happiness
Today we are fish
kept in ponds and glass fish tanks
no longer caring about food and vegetables
no need to communicate with every relative and friend. Every river
forgets the rivers, lakes and seas that are touching each other
I have a house, and everyone gives me a warm name
As for facing the sea, To hell with it
We just need spring flowers
Yesterday we were fish
living in rivers, lakes and seas
feeding horses, chopping wood and traveling around the world
giving to every river, Take a warm name for every mountain
Tell every lightning all our happiness
Today we are fish
Keep in ponds and glass fish tanks
No longer care about food and vegetables
Don't have to communicate with every relative and friend
Forget every mountain and river
Forget all the rivers and lakes
Me. Everyone gives me a warm name.
As for facing the sea, let it go to hell.
We only need spring flowers.
People who listen to the wind
The wind once kissed their fingers,
The sand once gathered at their fingertips,
You used to be around,
Love once filled their hearts.
people who listen to the wind can never wait for the wind to come,
people who hold sand can never stop the hourglass,
just like you can never wait for me,
and I can never leave you.
There is always a shortage that you can't taste, and
There is always an old age that you can't get.
if there is beauty left in regret,
then, let it soar.
only when the beauty is striking can you feel shocked.
If you are infatuated,
it is better to say goodbye while you are awake.
Canon
Incomplete or obscure
This woman is covered in blood
Her face has nothing but eyes
I marvel at the abnormal integrity of her wings
This woman invaded the night
This once belonged to my night, and I didn't feel sorry for her or me. What no language
can do together is to devour the moon
like to carve up a cake, not because of whose birthday
If it is, the star becomes a candle
Count it, and there will be as many rings as we shed blood
, including the meteor
. It's a lost reincarnation
mine. Her eyes are full of sound features < I think of her wings
stirring, more like a kind of protection, or stroking
the stage
a lonely path
leading to the background
No matter how bright the lights are, this stage
separated from the world
bathed in holy light
is like the palm of the thief
raging and restless < I dream of being on this stage
I want to
be praised by Christians on the cross like Jesus
I have had enough difficulties
Enough, enough
Oh, I dream of being on this stage
I am the master of this stage
All the audience
No, Not only the audience
all have to applaud me
salute me
marvel at my talent
thank me for my existence
I'm tired of being left out
I'm tired of being alone
Not anymore
Not only that
Everything has to worship the moon like me
. Or the stars
Even the self-righteous Apollo
is no exception
You never shone on me
The darkness tortured me
You just watched
I don't forgive you, never
I have stood on this stage
Applause-enduring, flowers-full of stage
me. I'm unhappy
I've been through too many difficulties
I'm intoxicated with flowers
I used to sigh at the loom, and when I was in love, there were countless autumn grasses rolling in new rain, green leaves flowing in beads, early morning clothes falling
clouds and ink blowing in the willows, and there was no road to cross the field
I was afraid that it would not hurt my soul and break the spring trees again. I have homesickness
walking
holding a crutch flattened by the sand
wandering under the touch of the setting sun
letting the west wind scrape the wrinkled skin
eyes that are still clear
blowing the sand through
crossing the mottled desert
picking a berry
.