The Years
华年
by
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Why Poetry That day I rode with a bunch of writers Amidst talking about why they’d write One said he originally wrote to right Another wanted the world to enlight Still another, just to vent his extra steam And she, to keep her in a beautiful dream When it came to my turn, I said, well, I I was afraid of a premature chance to die There was a sudden stoppage of the flow As if unsure whether to wow or to woe It came to me one day my PC broke down I was presently knocked out at a loss All my savings gone,nowhere to be found I was left with nothing, totally broke As if a miser died of a sudden stroke When I eventually turn to earth I may leave nothing of any worth Poetry is the only asset I care to control I’ll try to create with all my heart and soul Some live to eat Some live to beat Some live to write on Some live to singsong And those crazy fans Must have sensed the the rhythm of soul But those immune to the beautiful Might well be soulless I write, because I am soulful And a soul strives for immortal Poetry can not save the sun from setting But can set a soul off into sublimity
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About the Book
Keats was so lofty as to write his name In water, yet he rose to immortal fame But mine is written with a pencil of lime bound to be erased by the tide of time like footprints on the beach of open seas Sooner than my life itself would cease If you read me and remember I shall be living in eternal summer
About the Author
If the author is toI die now, it can’t say "Veni, Vedi," have been, seen, no more, let alone the ambition to conquer the world. Anyway, it wouldn’t be premature. But there is still some fear, especially with the COVID-19 pandemic pending over the world. And more of living in vain. It has no ambition to make a name, but coming into being once, eating and drinking, then just going away like nothing, is totally a waste. With so much energy consumed by its life, there should be something left to compensate for it. What can be left behind? In a poet, only the mind, or it may be called the soul. It gives it to poetry, in hope to stay in the world. Poetry does not save the sun from setting, but it can sublimate the soul. Hence this book, e Years.