Clouds, not my Grace

Horizon clouds, elegant stretch.I looked up at the clouds beautiful poem, such as lake-like calm heart.Child blowing a gust of wind, the winter cold blown into the collar, I can not help looking at clouds hanging eyes, looking at the dancing dust under the winter sun, suddenly feel out the side in fact there are many beautiful and lovely.There have been emotional, dreamy nothingness.My recollection of the past, bit by bit, my heart has become numb.As if waking up from a nightmare, I have a different kind of effort to get weary of coke.Since then, no longer approached lightly.Not lightly accept close.Beautiful scenery I can not imagine there will always be behind the ugly.(Read the article Net: WWW.sanwen.COM) is not the wrong word, do not say sorry.The road of life is full of thorns and rough.After the storms, I have a pair of eyes and a sharper more mature smile.Keenly aware affairs, soft handling of affairs, I would still be doing things basic rule.In the decision to give up, I will spare no pains to do.Tangled, to have, in others, they are detrimental.Blue sky, white clouds with eternal beauty.Standing above the vast land, I would occasionally look up at the beautiful and enigmatic, but no longer fantasy approached the floating clouds.Loved, pain before, after thinking over, I have learned: the clouds, not my Grace.After the storm earth, I return to the lonely heart.Alone, but not lonely.When night fell, the face of the vast sky, I will particularly cherish from lonely heart.When the text straight to the lonely heart, I can feel a different kind of peace.Lonely beauty, the tranquility of a dust.Soul wind like walking in the dark of the night, a beautiful flying start.Clouds pass, playing with posture-changing Wan magic in the black night sky.And I, if ignored home.At the moment, no longer wander, no attachment, tears red rinse eyes no longer had a loss.Heart, no longer scenery along the way and stay.Flying wings beat gathered from scattered clouds, in front of me, it is that grass desolately thorns oasis.Left, distant clouds.Somersault-changing clouds, can not carry poetic imagination.Elegant white clouds, can not carry my future.Everything can change with the flow between the tilting moment subversion.Since we can not carry, let me leave it threw.It turned out great big world.It turned out that a better world is the United States.