Library

May you be able to live through the stars to welcome the dawn, and finally have your own little world

Xi Chuang Xiao Yin This thin volume of text is nestled between the four characters "The west window is close at hand". The west window is a stop for gaze. The ordinary wooden lattice frames the flowing clouds, the sounds of the market, and the shadows of returning birds' wings. It gives me the distance to observe quietly, allowing me to carefully discern the trembling rhythm of the flower seller's pole, and the glimmer of morning dew supported by the cobwebs on the corners of the eaves. The art of prose begins with the pious picking up of light particles in the dust - what you see through the window is the most authentic expression of the fireworks in the world. However, the word "close" creates a deep ravine in the closeness. The faces of passers-by outside the window are clear, but their joys and sorrows are as if they are separated by heavy fog; the ink marks on old letters are still warm, and I want to write them again, but thousands of words are choked behind "seeing the words as if they were faces". This tension between "near" and "far" turns out to be the eternal puzzle of life. The pen describes the moss marks on the stone steps of the hometown and a stem of white hair under my mother's lamp. What the words can touch is just a thin silhouette of time cast on the wall of memory. The real warmth and sighs end up on the far bank of the river. The west window then becomes the lens of the soul. When the twilight soaked into the window paper, the dormant dust in my heart suddenly appeared. Writing is like holding a candle, using this square inch of skylight to illuminate the dark paths and abyss of the heart valley. Those distant places that are difficult to reach and longings that are difficult to express find temporary shelter in the words. This book is just a tiny coordinate cast by a person leaning on the window on the flow of time - using the window lattice as a ruler to measure the warmth and coolness of the world; using words as a boat to swim across the horizon of the heart and soul. I hope you can touch the cool wood grain of the window frame between the pages, and the warmth that has never cooled down under the wood grain.

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Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

The scar in the palm of my hand is also written "Like Fireworks" on the QQ reading platform

When the moss marks spread over the vermilion fence The inkstone was overturned Half of the unfilled word cards are floating on the river Ripples spread out the seal characters Stacked flat and flat to form the silhouette of a awning boat The rhyme that shakes a river of stars to pieces

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Buddha said: Looking back five hundred times in the past life is worth just one passing glance in this life. I left under the purple clouds and sang a song that I loved all my life. From then on, I walked alone, watched the sunset alone, went to autumn, winter and summer alone, picked up tiny flowers alone... Thousands of mountains and rivers, and I will never meet you again, but I will write thousands of poems. In the next life, I will spend my whole life reading for you in front of the lamp and under the moon.

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My heart is long, and it spreads with the boat.

Life seems to be really a movie. Listen to the sound of the sea breeze and smell the aroma of coffee Taste the sweetness of spirits and recall the joys and sorrows of life. We seem to be running all the time, running desperately We seem to never stop experiencing the true meaning of life. When the movie ends and the audience leaves When the sea ebbs, when night falls. Oh, our life will never end. The dusk where the sun never sets...

This is a collection of affectionate essays that records the mental journey of a wanderer before and after his mother died of liver cancer. The book is composed of forty interrelated and independent essays, weaving a touching picture about maternal love, longing and growth.

Books are the ladder of human progress. Open the classics, wander in the wisdom of words, rest on the fragrance of Chinese classics, and not be dumb about what is in your heart. Read "Ode to Orange" and miss your hometown!

The Milky Way is the glass lamp left behind by the God of Poetry. I will turn my yearning into starlight, sink into the bizarre whirlpool, and salvage the phosphorus fire of words.

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Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!

Recently, I have compiled some poems from my youth, about positive and negative things... No matter whether they are good or not, they were all my own efforts. I will cherish them and keep them as a souvenir.

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Poems about Xiangxi

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College students are complaining

Some emotional essays, poems and reflections written during the senior year of high school and the review of high school.

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"The Ordinary Corner" Life is short and love is hard to leave; The traces of Tao stories will last forever; The heart is dry and the world is unavoidable; Cultivation of one's body and one's nature are boundless.

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Thoughts in twos and threes falling on scattered words

Zhang Shiwei's original heart-warming chicken soup

The best tacit understanding in the world is not when someone understands what you mean, but when someone understands what you want to say but hesitates. The most comfortable relationship is one where there is tacit blankness and space between each other, as well as unspoken respect and understanding!

A collection of prose, poetry and essays, dedicated to everyone who loves words and beauty.

[General Preface·Confessions of the Fallen] Reconstructing the essence of existence from the perspective of quantum state, the crystallization of every grain of salt is a solidified tide. We search for the codes of the universe in the folds of our daily lives, and divine the echoes of eternity with coffee stains.

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Daily life in Zhuzhou

This is a series of warm poems created based on the clues of the people I associate with. Behind every name there is a story, be it friendship, family or love. Chapters connected by names convey the most sincere emotions between people.

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"Collection of Wang Guangwei's Poems (2024)" selects the author's masterpieces of classical poetry created in 2024, expressing the sentiments of the times and philosophy of life in a concise style. The work combines traditional rhythms and modern imagery. It not only contains the tranquility and remoteness of landscapes and pastoral areas, but also contains deep chants of family and country feelings. The language is timeless and the artistic conception is rich. The book covers various genres such as Qi Lu, Qi Jue, and Ci Pai, showing persistence and innovation in classical culture. I hope this collection of poems can become a quiet place in the hustle and bustle, allowing you to experience the beauty of words and the eternal charm of poetic residence.

I took my father with me that day, 496.2 Kilometers, which made me understand why he was the same as his father.

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Record the time until the last moment

There are all kinds of things in the world, and there is no way to survive.

Art is as absurd as truth, Just to fill the world's desires, People are evil obstacles that should not exist, Let me do you a favor and go to a distant place, A grand-sounding collection dream, I wonder if it's the hunger of the soul, Of course, the world is full of nutrients, So don't worry, use yourself as food, To satisfy the hungry heart. Book club group: 626461284

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Every ordinary thing There are unread rhymes hidden in them, when their eyes meet Aurora quietly blooming into poetry

Letter to idol

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I am a fairy who was cast into the earthly world because of peeping on mortals. After experiencing different lives in the mortal world, I can return to heaven.