Modern poetry that cannot be forgotten, modern poetry that cannot be forgotten

There are many things in this world.

Make us unforgettable.

I can't forget the gentle strokes of my mother again and again.

I can't forget - dad is ruthless one by one. Palm.

I can't forget the teacher's red checkmarks.

I can't forget the sympathetic faces of my classmates.

In this world—the words of many people.

Make us unforgettable.

I can't forget it.

Mom's voice is warm.

I can't forget it—my father reproached deeply again and again.

I can't forget it—the teacher firmly encouraged him.

I can't forget the warm comfort from my classmates.

These. It's all their love for me.

I'll say to you.

Thank you, I love you for your noise.

I miss having you at dusk, the waves gently walking across the beach, looking back into the deep sea, this is the first time, I hear the echo in your eyes.

That summer, the pale pink apricot blossoms bloomed in a dream, and all of them left your smell, as if everything stopped at that moment.

The west wind blew through the city, withered half of the city's smoke and sand, this way, this year, I wish you a prosperous life in the coming year.

At the intersection of barren grass and grass, I sealed my heart in the autumn wind, and did not dare to dream of eternity.

Separated again and again, through each other's youth.

I don't know who modified the past, there are no footprints on the beach at dusk, only the cold sky.

It's another spring, let me come to your memory, the gentle spring breeze, can disturb your thoughts.

I stood silently, listening to the whispers of the breeze, the charm of the light smile, with your soft words.

Your quiet departure is not a split of love, but you can't bear it.

Leave the old figure in my memory.

The youthful vitality, the spring-like laughter, and the courage to take responsibility are always floating in my memory.

The mountain flowers bloom and thank, the moon is full and the wild wheel is missing, and the beauty of spending time together has never been extinguished in my memory.

The bloom of the ice cream flower, whether I gave you the first message of spring, whether you have never forgotten me.

The love continues, all the admonitions.

Spine envy is the light rain in the spring, with beauty, but also a little sadness, let me in the wind and rain of love, shallow whispering.

Entering the spring flower rain, not afraid of the downturn of the cold and cold, smiling at the flowers, seeking, looking for ......

Editor's note: There are many people in life, and those who are inconsequential will gradually be forgotten. Enjoy the poem "Forget" below.

There is no prophecy. This is a true legend.

As night falls, dreams begin to wake up.

Begin to slip gently from yesterday's memories.

Everything is quiet, and thoughts are still asleep.

In the trajectory of love aging.

Again and again.

Commemorate. It's a sad day.

That thrilling scene a year ago.

I can't bear to be remembered.

I don't want to commemorate it.

Even a couple of skinny texts.

What is past is no more.

In the sky today.

A smiling sun rose.

Oblivion. The choice is after careful consideration.

Forgetting is a reluctant decision after pain.

Can't erase the traces of memory.

The decision is null and void'

There is no way to escape.

can only pretend to be strong.

Weak tone.

The truth of hypocrisy is exposed.

Slag oak says that there is such a water in the world.

I don't remember who I drank it again.

I lifted the cup.

Embark on a journey of searching.

Half of it is given to you.

We can no longer remember who you are in Trembling.

How nice is that. Writing.

I don't like it.

Make fertilizer with heart.

Grow your text from thin to fat.

It's not as good as being next to the cave as a hobby.

Take the footprint of time.

They are all recorded in this fragmented piece of poetry.

I'm not a poet at all.

I just love doodling.

Tears were smeared in the white clouds.

The trail of the wind in the blue sky.

Install a magic mirror in the forest.

Engrave the process of aging in the text.

Yes, I'll grow old.

Grow old with the words.

And also. The story hidden at the bottom of the line.

I forgot what I remembered.

Indifferently. Accustomed to the loneliness of being lost.

Spring in the depths of the soul.

Alone with cold blood.

Thirst for words that have condensed and formed on the horizon.

The heart with a broken thread doesn't know where it falls.

Whether the diffuse wildfires have cooled.

Naive waiting, waiting without an ending.

Buried the vastness that remained.

Several years of good stories reflect the good scenery of the past.

But it's not the end of the cold smoke.

Helplessly, the mistake was quickly dismantled.

Missed the innocence that was revealed.

I don't know. It's also gone.

Quenched my thirst. When you are not there.

It's just a happy vision.

I wasn't ready for it.

Look at the clouds all night.

But it's just not around.

Although dreamy in tenderness'Make a living.

There are also things that the imperial stove can't say.

Go and light it yourself.

My skies are never dominated by twilight.

will only be inexplicably and wonderfully assertive.

It's a little hazy.

And there is no dim light.

Walk with me through the night.

You don't have to leave a lot of devastation behind.

Quietly counting the quicksand-like memories.