散文诗,这种从中国新文化运动中脱颖而出的文体,曾经像刀与剑一样刺向敌人的胸膛。有人说它来自异域,我却从两千多年前响彻汨罗江畔的《天问》中看到了它的影子。忠魂的俯仰宇宙、与国存亡之躯,化为江水,沁入秦汉的土地,融入唐宋的月光,汇入明清的声声呐喊。时光再冲上民国的窗台,我们看到,短发根根直立的猛士,捧着跋涉千年也不曾疲倦的月光,揣着历经沧桑却不消亡的炎黄子孙的精气神,奋笔疾书那部著名的《野草》。他的耳旁,有来自历史深处的吟哦:离离原上草,一岁一枯荣。野火烧散 Prose poetry, a genre that stands out from the new Chinese cultural movement, used to be like a sword and a sword that pierced the enemy’s chest. Some people say that it is from a different country. However, I have seen its shadow in the “Heavenly Squad” along the Miluo River, which was over 2,000 years ago. Loyalty to the soul of the universe, with the country’s survival, into the river, Qin Qin and Han into the land, into the moonlight of the Tang and Song Dynasties, mercurial vapor, into the Ming and Qing voices. Time and then rushed to the windowsill of the Republic of China, we see that the short-haired uprising warriors, holding thousands of years without trekking moonlight, Chuaizhuo after the vicissitudes of life but not the essence of the grandson, The “weeds.” His ears, from the depths of history Yin: away from the original grass, one year old and withered. Wildfire burn