30 points for an original poem! 30

Smell a lot and all the darkness will pass.

The struggle has set sail in silence.

Dream of succumbing to the barrel of a gun.

The people are numb in the war.

Finally, you're up on the cracks.

It's like a volcanic eruption.

A pen pierces everyone's soul.

You are a pure fighter.

A quiet fighter for democracy.

Don't seek to be heard, don't seek to be successful.

Face a world like a stagnant water.

Despair haunts you.

You shed tears along with the nation.

The Shutter Psalms cries out for the sleeping dreamers.

July 15, 1946.

Blood melted the pen.

Leave a place of tenderness.

Let the world hurt.

I wrote this poem myself to commemorate the 110th anniversary of Wen Yiduo's birth.

It's not well written, don't blame it.

The wind enters the pine. Farewell (written after the college entrance examination to go to college and separate from GF).

The autumn cold is shocking, the waves are blue and cloudy, and the wind caress the willows and broken bridges. A hint of green, a sense of sorrow. Just like the sunset. The night is dark, and the dream is in full swing.

The twilight of the river is getting farther and farther away, the wind is startling, and the moon shadow flowers are dancing in the grass. A few reds, a few more scarts. However, the west is out of Yangguan, who is the road ahead?

First of all, it is not recommended that you choose poetry recitation, poetry recitation does not seem to be in tune with this era. You might as well practice a stand-up comedy.

If you want to choose poetry, choose the youthful one. Or revolutionary. You also have to find someone to guide you, you are still young and it is not easy to grasp the feelings.

Eighteen years of hard work in the cold window, the hard work pays off.

When I walked into the society, I found that I could only earn a thousand.

People spend 30 days and noon, but they can still endure hardship.

Ten years has risen to two thousand six, and the house is still like a sifter.

Even if she has leisure to watch the idle moon, her wife can't stop talking.

The year of not being confused is confused, how many years of life are there?

The teenager doesn't know what it's like to be sad!

A few people can sing old songs.

The spring breeze and autumn moon scenery are free, there is no joy in the world, I hope that at the end of this life, children and grandchildren will not worry about food and shelter.

Personally, I agree with the statement that people lean on Qinglou, and the desolation of poetry in the world can go out of the right side of Jiangchengzi, and it is estimated that there will be no more.

The night said that I would throw myself into the fiery Li Min.

For your little flowers.

It was like night to me.

The buds are looking for night and dew.

And the blooming flowers demand the freedom of light.

Flush out of your sheath.

Go my heart.

The flowers have not yet opened.

Only the wind sighed and blew.

You and I are going to part.

And to stay away is to be annihilated.

Green grass and flowers smiling in the sun.

Boundless sunset.

Wandering in the darkness without a trace.

Disappear and indifferent.

Like a flower under the cover of a benevolent night.

to revive his life.

He who stayed far away.

Always by your side.

Please give me such love.

It will seep into the heart of life.

Like the invisible sap.

Circulating the Tree of Life.

Make it bloom. Make it a result.

When you hold the lamp in the air.

The light shone on my face.

And the shadow casts on you.

When I hang the lamp of love in my heart.

The light shines on you.

But I stood in the shadow behind me.

My vanity as a poet.

In front of you.

Gone in shame.

You only give me a voice.

But it's not just the voice that asks for me.

That's why I sing.

Your light glitters in my tears.

Please bear with me for now.

If I forget my ......

Late autumn, read.

In the morning, you come to the sea of flowers and listen to the whispers after the first rain of autumn.

I looked at your smile and was in a daze.

Ask you everything.

You only answer: Born in autumn, named Ruri.

Just as I was reminiscing, you had already turned away, leaving only early autumn.

That freshness after the rain.

When the time comes to say goodbye, autumn will be gone.

You are buried in a thick drizzle.

So peacefully slept.

Before I had time to fall in love, I could only murmur in my mouth

Ruri, I love you.

This autumn is somewhat sad.

Write it yourself.

Drunken flowers are gloomy, and drunken flowers are nowhere to be seen.

The fragrance of spring is broken.

The goddess will be high.

The dream is empty. There is no need to complain.

Year after year, year after year, west wind film.

Called the sad goose.

Who asks how sad it is.

The old thing. I still remember the red silk wrist.

The poppy building is tall and sleepy.

The wind falls on the sycamore.

It's been ten years since I was young.

The white feather has not been completed, and there is nowhere to wash the dragon spring.

Undercurrents and idleness foxes.

Life and death are impermanent.

Life is like water, and water is like sorrow.

A few times to do everything, a few times to return and stay.

Just two words, the poem was not written.