搁笔
                                               他放下了手中的笔
                                               颤抖，坚决
                                               他不再固执的写着
                                               纸上未完成的田野与丰收
                                               从此迎接光明
                                               柴米油盐的幸福与
                                               人群
                                               
                                               他拾起靠在门边的锄头
                                               就像与生活在握手言和
                                               从此有了阳光
                                               有了希望
                                               
                                                        成画
                                                从子时到卯时的僵持
                                                侥幸，迟疑
                                                他试图找寻最后的平衡
                                                用掌纹摩挲翘起的黑发
                                                字里行间终究没有错过
                                                凉了的叹息
                                                 
                                                 抬起手臂
                                                 用十二秒从容调色
                                                 时钟与窗外吹塑的长风
                                                 又给这色彩里添了一抔嘲讽
                                                 
                                                 这最后的故事里没有悲伤
                                                 到了成画的时候
                                                  用这色彩
                                                  落下千钧的手臂
                                                  撞断了
                                                  生活与远方间最后的妥协

                                                          终章
                                                   这样的日子里他从不写诗
                                                   从不放任自己走入这漆黑的牢笼
                                                   他早该知道
                                                   当纸上的丰收与田野碰撞
                                                   不论奏出怎样的音符
                                                    
                                                   那里都有让人向往的阳光
                                                   那里有希望
                                                   那里有荣光
                                                   那里没有诗