一我诅咒废墟,我又寄情废墟。废墟吞没了我的企盼,我的记忆。片片瓦际散落在荒草之间,断残的石柱在夕阳下站立,书中的记载,童年的幻想,全在废墟中殒灭。昔日的光荣成了嘲弄,创业的祖辈在寒风中声声咆哮。夜临了,什么没有见过的明月苦笑一下,躲进云层,投给废墟一片阴影。但是,代代层累并不是历史。废墟是毁灭,是葬送,是诀别,是选择。时间的力量,理应在大地上留下痕迹;岁月的巨轮,理应在车道间辗碎凹凸。没有废墟就无所谓昨天,没有昨天 Once I cursed the ruins, I was left in ruins. The ruins engulfed my hope, my memory. Pieces of tile interspersed among the weeds, broken pillars standing in the setting sun, the book’s records, childhood illusions, all annihilated in the ruins. The glory of the past became a mockery, and the ancestors of the entrepreneurs roared in the cold. When the night approached, what had not seen the moon was a bitter smile, hid in the clouds and cast shadows on the ruins. However, generations are not historical. Ruins are destruction, burial, screening, and choice. The power of time should leave a mark on the earth; the giant wheel of the ages should have shattered the bumps between the lanes. It doesn’t matter if there is no ruins yesterday, no yesterday