The roaming child wouldn’t let his sorrow show,
When fragments of watery blue sublimed into the afterglow.
He was told twilight stems from every pink toe,
That prints its infant lemon-GREen on reflection of a rainbow.
They say twilight is a net weaved by mayflies,
When the florescence of their transient lives defeats sunrise.
Then their wings shatter and sink into the ocean’s eyes,
That’s why there seems to be more stars than in the skies.
But for him twilight is a candle in a rosewood tray,
Where along branching fissures tears of wax wind their way.
During white nights he was blinded with pearly beams of ray,
That once through Ice age passions and hopes to relay.
In the canal of eventide his heart quietly bleeds,
Sitting on a vein of mussels that towards terminal leads.
Gold in the sand under his feet is daylight’s seeds,
Which will grow into a lucent curtain of flaming weeds.
创作灵感：黄昏，是一个哲学思维和文学幻象横空出世的时刻。她朝向每个人的都是一张不同的面孔，所以每个日落时分，光影弥漫的玄妙空寂、日升月恒的明媚轻灵、昼夜更替的轮回流转，都会深深震撼那些境遇迥异，却同样有着梦幻色彩的心灵。除了一个热爱黄昏的灵魂，我还有一颗每每跟随着夕照参差、华灯吐蕊、乌鹊还巢、烛影斑驳而行走不止的心。日暮或许难免给人一丝颓唐消极的印象，但它更是诗意与狂想萌生、浪漫和魅惑共栖、怀想与顿悟焕发的瞬间。这是就为何我以一个孩子的眼睛对这一华丽落幕进行了长久的注视和冥想。
Imprisoned
When the eaves were frozen over with rime ice,
He played his cello through starry nights to the dancing mice.
Regards it more vulgar to satisfy their worldly hunger with rice,
Than to seduce gamblers with a dirty dice.
On left little finger wears a ring carved out of jade,
Which hand hibernated in a white glove for a decade.
Some guess his soul once had to through despair wade,
Goaded by a stony-heart or a sharp blade.
Before spring rain covered his window with sapphire drops,
The dreamy waltz of his fingers on piano keys never stops.
He said unique prayers; he listens to classical, jazz but no pops,
He occasionally visits galleries, museums and antique shops.
A stern woman brings him twice a month Pu\'er tea,
From across an ocean of surging leaves underneath a gingko tree.
She holds the rusty key to his gate yet unable to set him free,
For his solitude is an irrevocable decree.
No grief, no surprise, no insanity, no fears.
No controversy, no sermon, no throb of pain, no tears.
At both superstition and corporal pleasures he sneers,
And squandered without mercy his black and white years.
创作灵感：孤独，在现代社会，似乎是一种沿着每个人骨髓生长的痕迹，虽然它对每个人的内涵和外延不尽相同。它是月下的吟啸、是弦间的缄默、是樽前落泪、山巅放歌，是这首诗中男主人公洁癖一般从不脱下的白手套，也是稔熟茶香却不懂人情、在银杏落叶迷航一生中的女主角那一壶未沾凡间烟火的普洱茶。或许人并不喜欢画地为牢，只是不知道孤独的影子所能覆盖的领域是如此之宽，以致自己在不知不觉的清高和疏离中就成为了一个无名的囚徒。
