A poem by Li He (791-817)

Don't Go Out the Door

Heaven is dark.
Earth is secret.

The nine-headed monster eats our souls,
Frosts and snows snap our bones.
Angry dogs snarl, sniff around us,
and lick their paws, partial to the smell of the virtuous,
Till the end of all afflictions, when God sends his chariot to fetch us,
And the sword starred with jewels and the yoke of yellow gold--

	I straddle my horse but there is no way back
	On the lake which swamped Li-yang 
	the waves are huge like mountains

Deadly dragons stare at me, jostle the metal wheels,
Lions and monsters spit from slavering mouths.

Pao Chiao just parted the ferns, and forever closed his eyes,
Yen Hui, at twenty-nine, was white at the temples.
Not that Yen Hui had thin blood,
Not that Pao Chiao had offended Heaven.
Heaven dreaded the time when teeth would rend and gnaw them.
For this and no other reason made it so.
Plain though it is, I fear that you still doubt me.

Witness the man who raged at the wall as he carved his questions to heaven!

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