煤,是有灵魂的。从矿山走来的我,深信不疑。煤的灵魂,是黑色的灵魂,亦如黑色的玫瑰,静谧得让人仰视。它浓浓的黑,像漫过远古山头的洪水,在一种颜色里沉淀出纷乱的历史;轻柔的黑,像拨开尘封岁月的尘埃,在一缕柔风中呈现闪亮的质感;火热的黑,像穿透时间沙盘后炯炯有神的双眼,在一块块石头里凝望着跳跃的火焰。我想,每一个行走在黑夜里的人,都会感受黑的可 Coal is soulless. I came from the mine, convinced. The soul of coal is the soul of black, as is the black rose, quiet enough to look up. Its thick black, like the flood across ancient hills, in a color precipitated a chaotic history; soft black, like the dust away dusty years, showing a ray of soft breeze shining texture; fiery Black, like piercing time sandbox after piercing eyes, in a block of stone staring at the jumping flame. I think everyone walking in the dark will feel black