Poetry

Autumn falling,
The bones of maple leaves cracking
Into young palms of unquietness,
When wave so gracefully,
Messaged by sheaves of air
So tender,
Breathe the cold womb warming
In wonder,
I skin the mooncake's secret
A peeper.

Forgive me,
For that plucking of your rose red buds.
They red like many crystal hearts
Dare dive
Out damp
With stinging love.
Dost thou still breathst well?
I into you to steal a while.

Vigorous-grown face,
With vermilion lips to kiss,
Hairs stubborn in summer unbending greens,
Eyes tweedled gayly with deep sheens.
You once were my happy prince.

Forget the winter,
Forget the spring,
Forget the seasons always disdain,
In brain walnut cell
Only with little witnessing of the thievery
Commited by the Moon's Festival
Which the lordly Sun can do
Nothing
But sitting-blank
Envy.

Moon
Round round,
Orange-like pillow,
Sleepy pioneers sky
And stars hustle.

Fragrant nuts sweets,
I swallow,
Tastes the withered, whitened, veiled
In hollow,
Under the heat's invasion,
Buds are talkatively muted in division.

Barbarously baked on crisp sobbing,
Red are ripped robbed
while rose dying.
When blasts of tranquility dilutes the Red
crowned on the flower,
Lifeless threads a needle
through the tireless colour.

Sigh sigh pales the past,
Rocking rainbow above the bridge of love.
You can come,
Can part,
Can dwell on the ironing scar.
Easy everything can trap me numb,
Only ascend in mind the dreamy bubbles of love.

Big memories be with the silver moon,
Little crowds tributed to the golden sun.
At the kid's day,
Mouth-spliting honey clothes whole the play.
The Rose bound mummy,
Undead yummy.