A book of poetry

I used to put myself to the night, to the night of loneliness and longing.    Poetry and tonight, by the dim light at night, I give myself a book of poetry, a collection of poems of the poet’s lot.This book is my school days, borrowed from the library’s copy.Yeah it almost four years, removed to go with me poems, wandering wandering complex.    It’s raining outside, and my damp bedding.After lying in bed, I read a few pages poem, I’m afraid of poetry, like me feeling cold, put poetry at hand pressed in a mattress under a thin.I think I can, using his own body to warm poetry sinking lonely and cold heart.    Poems will wake you up?I’m talking about writing, editing, publishing a book of poetry in the future.If so, it will not dream about my ordinary name yet?Speaking of dreams, I will.    I’ve done more than once a same dream.The dream is about a collection of poems.This anthology there are a lot of content: for example, the appearance of the old old house, a pair of muddy hands, smile hanging in the face of a young couple, some dead old people about their appearance and funerals, as well as high mountains and deep ditch Qing, and other sorts of me and could not think of a familiar.Poems cover unpretentious, just written my name on the cover.As for the content of the poem, it will only be bland.    However, each poem are saturated with my sweat, tears and even blood red.    2012.07.04