Chapter 448: 691 poems, occasionally walking through the street's center

691 poems, occasionally walking through the street's center

691 poems, occasionally walking through the street's center

Occasionally

Walked through the bustling market

I saw many

Indifferent faces

appeared before my eyes

Then, my face

also became indifferent

I became a

stranger

my own stranger

the original self

also disappeared along with it

I wrote a short poem

written on the mixed-trace street

written on the dry desert

written in the misty forest

written in the lonely heart

My lyricism is illusory

My illusion is real

My joy is exaggerated

My gloom is prolonged

I took the written verses

threw them into the trash can

just as people casually

throw away fruit peels

My indifferent face

My indifferent eyes

no longer want to see

those broken verses

because they have

tormented me for a long time

in the afterglow of the sunset

I walked through lightly

the small bridge at the street's center

and passed through the fragrant garden

In the garden, flowers bloomed like brocade

Especially those on the trees

those blossoms

bloomed even more lovable

Because the blossoms on the trees

I recalled the ones I just threw away

those short poems

How they

are like those on the tree

those scattering

fragrant flowers

What a pity

What a pity

I I took them

threw them away

I feel so regretful

In a lifetime

such regrettable matters

are there still few?

In a lifetime

such regrettable matters

will they still arise?

a tree without flowers

How ugly

A body without poetry

How like an empty shell

I come from a beautiful place

I come from a lonely place

I come from a country called Poetry

I continue writing those

Flowers are like short poems