Blue in dreams

2022-06-19 0 By

Black at night, blue in the dream, do not rush, do not dissolve, their peace.I lurk in deep blue, the flowers are expanding, the clouds are shrinking.Far away, the future was coming, and the cascading blue began to slide gently through my mind, searching for the blurred boundary between night and dream.The earth raised, the sky depression, constantly ringing, constantly rippling, between heaven and earth turbulent or that thin blue.When I was young, I like to lie on the green grass, raising my hands, squinting and looking between my fingers.Finger gap or wide or narrow, see is a few fat thin different sky blue.Occasionally there are twos and threes of white clouds drifting, occasionally have a swirl of leaves falling.I want to stick the leaves and white clouds together on my poem page, to see the color a little yellow, to see the youth approaching step by step, to see the dreams flying.Nothing. The sky. The sky.Blue as far as the eye can see, blue from top to bottom, only one pen left.Then write something on the big blue paper with this pen, write about the softness of clouds, the softness of flowers, and the softness of a dream.These gentleness are the gentleness of providence, the gentleness of deep meaning, and of course, the gentleness of poetry.The wind in front of my eyes shaking the blue sky, shaking to rare rain, shaking to superfluous thoughts.Green and blue, one on the earth, the other in the sky, look at each other and reflect each other.Living green, lifeless blue, affectionate and unfeeling, which can and unbearable, like a poem, like a dream.The running green never runs out of the stagnant blue, the green on the ground sighs, and the blue on the sky smiles.These are the two cleanest colors, and these are the two most opposite fates.Someone is flying a kite on the wet beach.With bamboo as bone and silk as wings, it looks like a giant paper butterfly with white spots on a red background.The wind picked up the zheng, gently shook straight up, suddenly inserted tens of feet high in the thick blue satin.The river was clattering in the distance and the kite was flying high.A pair of small hands hold the seven miles of sunshine, attracting countless admiring eyes looking up.Enchanting in the dark night, must be the most charming flowers.The flower should be blue, with a shiny quality in the moonlight.The flowers grow in my eyes, grow in my body, swaying with my sight, beating with my heart.A enchanting flower is lonely, a quiet person is also very lonely.Don’t say sky blue, only say sea blue, because I am closer to the sea.Reefs and coral and shoals of fish are silhouetted against the vast blue of the sea, and my heart suddenly sinks.Waves of waves, sea blue roll sea blue, I saw the long-cherished wish is starting from here.I clutched the highs and lows, the sea blue water spirals up and down.In the vast solitude of no one, I get about the sea blue more delicious meaning.The bottom of the sea is another world.The turbulent dark blue water, the various sizes of the black and brown reef, colorful plants and fish deduce the mysterious story of different life.The bottom of the sea seems to have no time, as if time is useless.The flowing sea floor, the solidification of time, a profound symmetry in a great contrast.I don’t want to say anything, because it must be thin and superficial.The sea surges with countless waves, revealing the power of the shaggy.Layer by layer to open, a position to open, clear in their most beautiful appearance.I have pointed to the wave-flower and told you that my joy will be there, and my wish will be there.Now bright and now absent, I see your scarlet smile hanging among the crystal blue sea flowers.Indulge in the crooning that comes from your crooning.Voice turned a page of blue poetry, pure, charming, flow into my quiet and monotonous world.The meandering melodies and confusing words are like the ripples of your youth, like the whirlpools of my dreams.Past adverse current, emotional retrospective, some lingering verdant, some unforgettable call.Poetry flows down from the blue nib, and a soft breeze comes through the window.The burning poetry is dancing, beautiful, fragrant, like the drops of tenderness you once gave me.Those words stained with the breath of late spring, wrapped in unspeakable secret language, as the nib continues to flow slowly.My sky allows your poetic clouds to be cut out of the shape of a heart, placed in different nights, placed in the same dreams