It’s Monday, mate, the streets feel new,
A hint o’ spring comes driftin’ through.
I breathe it in along me stride—
London wakes up with warmer pride.
Monday Morning, London
霧門未鎖
|
你話我句裡藏火， |
You say there is fire in my lines |
晨露
|
晨露輕墜， |
Morning dew falls, |
Angmar
Where northern winds unweave the mortal breath,
A kingdom rose on frost‑entangled lies.
Its voice was soft, a thread that mimicked death,
A murmur coiled beneath the iron skies.
The stones learned hunger from the Witch‑king’s will,
The air grew sharp enough to cut the bone.
Each whispered promise drifted colder still,
A truth undone, a shadow overthrown.
No trumpet sounded—evil seldom shouts;
It moves like ash that settles in the vein.
It speaks in half‑lit words, in quiet doubts,
In rhythms shaped to hollow out the brain.
So Angmar stands: a silence carved in ice,
A realm where every echo names a price.
A Walk Near the Loch Lomond
I wander slow by Lomond’s side,
The hills stand watch in silent pride.
The breeze comes saft across the shore,
A peace that fills me tae the core.
The path runs lang by bracken’d bends,
Wi’ licht that shifts as daytime ends.
The loch breathes slow in silver hue—
A quiet meant for me and you.
情欲
|
如潮水，吻上唇邊， |
Like waves, your kiss against my lips, |
Friday Light
By noon the city loosens up,
Its iron rhythm softened slow;
The clocks still tick their patient steps,
Yet gentler currents start to flow.
The weary desks release their hold,
The trains breathe out their human tide;
A murmur grows in open streets—
The week begins to step aside.
In quiet hearts a window lifts,
A promise hums beneath the skin;
Not loud with joy, not wild with fire—
Just room at last to breathe within.
And somewhere dusk will pour its gold
On pavements warm with passing feet;
Friday arrives without a shout,
But leaves the world more soft, more sweet.
Irresistible Crossing
A spark begins where I should never look,
A quiet pull that reason can’t contain.
Your presence turns my guarded will to smoke,
A whisper threading through my pulse and vein.
I tell my thoughts to keep their careful line,
Yet feel them drift toward where you stand apart.
The space between us hums with something fine,
A trembling chord that tightens in my heart.
Each step I take is one I should refuse,
Yet still the path grows brighter at your side.
The more I turn away, the more I choose
The very flame I’m sworn to cast aside.
What once was barred now draws me past the gate—
A longing too insistent to abate.
Hangover
Meiling woke up with a groan,
Her head doing beats of its own.
“Who spiked my last drink?
My brain’s on the brink—
Next time I’m sticking to scones,” she moaned.
The Rose in Its First Light
A blush of dawn unfolds within the rose,
Its petals breathing crimson into air.
A hush of gold along the edges glows,
As if the sun were dreaming nestled there.
The velvet spirals murmur as they part,
A quiet music shaped by wind and bloom.
Its fragrance moves like longing through the heart,
A soft‑lit flame that warms the garden’s gloom.
No jewel holds such colour in its fire,
No painted glass such trembling of the light.
It stirs the pulse with tender, fierce desire,
A fleeting grace that makes the world more bright.
So stands the rose—brief, radiant, and whole—
A living shrine where beauty finds its soul.
春天重啟
|
春風吹過， |
Spring breeze passes— |
Tin Hau Temple
|
海風慢慢吹， |
Sea breeze drifting slow, |
My 3DXChat life 