Medieval Flames Poem by Yilong River

When you open your eyes, you will see gold everywhere in the wind and sand.

Numerous beautiful figures groaned with longing.

There is no trace of affection in the panic.

Washed away by the heavy rain overflowing desire.



A beautiful picture woven by all,

Ignoring the ghost shivering in the corner,

The focus of light and shadow,

Draw your sword and stab it deep into the dark and inexplicable cave.



Whose blood is that?

Drops and drops slipped down the face of a weak woman.

The hero roared the pagan language solidified in the air.

The absurd reality of the market is still shackled by misery.



That's the sonnet of the New World.

After the excitement, there is only endless emptiness.