I am not a poet, and I can't understand what the poet's vision is. Some people say that the poet has innocence, romance, reverie and hope in his eyes, but there is no reality. Perhaps, poets don't need reality, or they have long been beyond reality.

I can't be a poet because poets need nature. But I also dream about the relationship with poetry. So, I fell in love with poetry. Oriental, western, classical and modern, I'm happy to sing a song. When I am alone, I especially love poetry. I always want to see the world from the poet's eyes one day, because there is always one thing in the poet's eyes that cannot be erased, whether it is sadness or joy, and that is beauty.

Everything written by the poet is beautiful. Life exists for a reason. Even if you are desperate, you should look for a trace of covered green leaves in the cold winter, which is strong and can be seen by poets.

I also think that every day of a poet will not be wasted. Little by little feelings make up the sea, which is the wealth of poets. The grass is green, which is the trembling of hope; Ripples bloom, that is the song of the river. Everything is animism, written by poets.

Poets can cry, laugh, be silent, be proud, be informal, fall, know everything, and the last thing is to express themselves. A friend I know is called a poet. Although he has never had great works, he likes poetry. His works are full of poetry, and the jumping words constitute a clever and beautiful artistic conception painting. I think his writing is better than his oral English. Asked him to talk about poetry, he mumbled something, hesitated, didn't know where to put his hands and feet, and was embarrassed. "Let's read poetry ..." Finally, he spit out a pale sentence. I didn't hear the speech, but I gained a lot. Poetry, perhaps the song in our hearts, can't be said. Only with the pen of the mind can it be outlined. Poetry, originally hidden in my heart.

However, in the eyes of poets, there are obviously hidden poems. The poet's eyes are always looking at the distance, blurred and sad, and sometimes clear and bright. It's a vision that I can't understand but desperately want to get close to, full of charm and fascinates me. When can I paint the world with this vision and draw a legend?

Maybe, just thinking about it.

Not long ago, he revisited April Day, and Xu Zhimo was a brilliant poet. He is just a poem. When he entered life, he was depressed and at a loss, so he had to escape ... This is a common problem of poets. Because the soul is perfect, it can't tolerate a flaw, because it is fragile, it can't cope with this complexity, because there is no way out, it is sad and sad. ...

Perhaps, the poet will never understand.