Poetry about modern death

1. There is a modern poem about death. What is death? Anyone who has tried will tell me what it feels like to die. Is it pain, injury or torture or will it be a fair enjoyment for God? Who knows death? Can you tell me whether you look dignified or kind? Go ahead. I'm not afraid. I want to return everything humble, noble, small and great. A messenger of justice who does not despise and compliment in situ will not die. Tell me how you obliterate eternity and put everything in the world in one law. Please feel free to extend your hand and pass it to me. No one dares to do anything. If there is, I will die with him. You think there will be many things in one person or in the world. How busy are things? You must have many partners, and the whole universe will die side by side with you. You are too great to surpass everything. The death of God will also make room for breathing (three songs). The fainting man suddenly turned to the left and a tree was blocked by fog. Sticky humidity is ideal for hiding suspicious residual time. The man who suddenly became thinner hurried by on the distant railway, interspersed with my shouts, and he came running before he could export a train. The creaking of steel filled his bones. Second, the falling dust darkens your mood, makes you feel bored instantly, and makes your hard breathing lose the tension of language. Your frustration is far more gnashing than being lovelorn.

Everyone you see is so sneaky, but your gaunt face is like a windbreaker many years ago, and the hand of time has been gently broken by the wind. The book you have opened has no wisdom you can understand. Some mysteries are often staged elsewhere when you are not paying attention.

But you must carefully walk through this lonely day, just like all petals, you can feel the dizziness of spring in blind breathing. Third, keep turning left. The first thing you see is that death has become the only word in that hospital. At this moment, you can turn around completely, but what you can't turn around is still: "How far can the soul float?" I saw a leaf wither prematurely, and things that ended easily in a warm spring were like passing clouds. In fact, spring is also very short. If you can see the garden behind the hospital, you will feel that the awakened bushes, together with your inner shadow, have crossed the decadent darkness, and you can cry excitedly, and then you will feel as light as paper.

Spring: "Death also makes room for breathing." The song of death silently wants to tell us something in the dust. It is the beauty, tranquility and eternity of another world. Only the mighty east wind blows the ears of the earth, and the joy of the world makes us supercilious. All the dead people are singing in the dark. He doesn't want us to understand what the universe never stops revealing, the road of wandering, the universe out of nothing. However, the world only knows how to build the Tower of Babel. In the eyes of God, poor man, we will always be his livestock. A poor poultry will never understand the purpose of its owner's keeping it dead. It eats and mates happily all day. It cherishes its feathers and makes them colorful. It even whimsically wants to plow instead of cattle. However, the owner just wants to wait until his body is full before killing him. Everyone in the world is afraid of death. I just hope that death will come soon. Death is the true meaning of life. Death can keep me and the ancient sages together forever. I understand that I was one with them before I was born. The time I left them was only a moment in eternity. The Buddha said that dust robs greedy dust. Our bodies can no longer fly freely because of hunger and thirst. Our bodies are filthy, the land of death, and I will always be. I don't live up to your warmth, please don't live up to my thoughts. In a dark dream, please send me a letter from my hometown. How many sleepless nights have I stood on the top of a tall skyscraper thinking of you, so overwhelmed that I want to cry. I can return to your arms immediately. Look, earth, my reborn warm and happy uterus, you stretch out your arms. Longing to hold me in my arms, I violated her ardent expectation of great love, because the blood of our ancestors was also corrupt, greedy, weak and cruel. God punished our ancestors, but our disdainful descendants are stiff-necked. Hold your head high and rejoice at the blood on your face. Innocent blood is crying underground. God is sleeping at this time, so I am looking forward to the terrible flood and the fire that burns through heaven. I long for a hidden cave crow to bring me the necessary food every day. However, in order to find rare treasures, all caves in the world have been destroyed. Because of pollution and degradation, crows will become extinct in this strange place. I have no place to live. I long for Moses to come quickly day and night and lead me through the desolate, dark and cold desert to return to my bright, warm and happy hometown. Death, I listened to your voice in the dark and looked up at the sky a billion times. I look forward to your arrival. I am your son. Will always be your son. Please don't let your son wander outside for too long. If it is too long, please call me back. Dear death, my heavenly father, please take me home in your gorgeous carriage. Homesickness makes me heartache, and the tears poured down make me dehydrated and shocked. I can't stand it any longer. I can't wait to die a glorious death. Take me back to my hometown quickly. Since I left my hometown, my tears have been around the clock. I miss my eternal hometown all the time. I feel heartbroken and silent. There will always be times when Wang Guozhen will quietly avoid it just for the sake of love. What she can't avoid is the silent feeling that lingers in her sleep in the moonlight. Emotional things are often not understood, but she doesn't want to love. It's not that I don't love, but I'm afraid that love is a kind of hurtful mistake. Xi Murong, if love can be explained, vows can be revised, and if you and I meet, we can reschedule, then life will be easier. If one day I can finally forget you, however, this is not a random story, nor will it be tomorrow.

2. What are the poems about death that mourn the dead?

1, Su Shi's "Jiang Chengzi Mao Yi's Twenty Dreams in the First Month" in Song Dynasty.

Original text:

Ten years of life and death are two boundless, disapproving and unforgettable. A lonely grave thousands of miles away, desolate and nowhere to talk about. Even if we don't know each other, our faces are dusty and our temples are frosty.

At night, I suddenly dreamed of going home, and the window of Xiao Xuan was being decorated. Care for each other without words, only tears thousands of lines are expected to break the heart, and the moon and night are short and loose.

Translation:

It's been ten years since you and I said goodbye, but it's still hard to look at each other after all. Thousands of miles away, that lonely grave has nowhere to pour out its sadness to you. Even if the husband and wife met, you wouldn't recognize me. I'm covered in dust and my temples are like frost.

Last night, I dreamed of going back to my hometown, and you were dressing in front of the cabin window. You and I are silent and sad, only tears flow thousands of lines. It is expected that the place where I missed her in the past was on the short Songshan Mountain on a bright moon night.

2. The Three Mournings of Mei in the Northern Song Dynasty (I).

Original text:

We are a couple, and now it's seventeen years altogether. It's not enough to be with each other, and now it's gone forever!

How long can my hair stay in the body, and how long can this body last? The same hole not far from you is not dead or in tears.

Translation:

We have been married 17 years. It's not enough to be with each other, and now it's gone forever!

I saw white hair on my temples. How long can this body last? It's not far from being in the same cave with you, but I still have tears when I die.

3. Three Elegy Poems by Tao Yuanming in the Eastern Jin Dynasty (Part II)

Original text:

There was no wine before, but now it's empty. Spring mash gives birth to floating ants, when can we taste it better!

Before the food box was full of me, I stood by crying. If you want to speak silently, you want to see things without light.

I used to sleep in Gaotang County, but now I live in Huangcao Township. Once you go out, you will come back healthy.

Translation:

When he was poor, he had no wine to drink. Today's libation is all wine. Spring wine is fragrant and frothy. When can it be tasted again?

The delicious food is in front of me, and my relatives and friends are crying beside me. Want to talk silently, want to open your eyes and see nothing.

I used to sleep in Gaotang, but now I sleep in the countryside. Once buried, there is no hope of turning back.

4. Three mourning poems of Yuan Zhen in Tang Dynasty (part two).

Original text:

I'm sitting here alone, mourning for both of us. How many years is my seventy years old? . No offspring is fate, and Pan Yue just mourned his dead wife in vain.

Even if you can bury it, you can't tell a passion. What an illusory hope the fetters of the afterlife are. However, when I open my eyes, I can see the whole night, the lifelong troubles in your brow.

Translation:

Doing nothing, sad for you, sighing for me. Life is short. How long is a hundred years? Deng You's childlessness is fate, and Pan Yuebai mourns his wife.

Even if we can be buried together, we can't talk about feelings. What an illusory hope it is to become attached to the afterlife. I can only miss you all night with my eyes open to repay your eyebrows that you can't stretch out all your life.

5. Two Song Dynasty Lu You's ShenYuan (Part Two).

Original text:

The dream is broken and fragrant for forty years, but the willow in Shenyuan doesn't blow cotton.

This body is a land of mountains and mountains, or a trace of death.

Translation:

It has been more than forty years since her death, and the willow trees in Shenyuan are too old to talk about.

I'm about to turn into a pile of dirt in Huiji Mountain, and I'm still here to mourn and cry.

3. Tao Yuanming's "three elegies"

This poem is very long, but the last four sentences are famous, as follows:

Relatives or sorrows, others have also sung.

What's the way to die? I'm on the same mountain.

The original poem is as follows:

Where there is life, there is death, and sooner or later there is no fate.

Last night, I was the same person, but today I am in the ghost book.

Where the soul is scattered, it will be dry and empty.

A charming child cried from his father, and a good friend caressed me and cried.

If you don't know the gains and losses, you can feel right and wrong!

Long live the century, who knows the honor and disgrace?

But I hate drinking enough when I'm alive.

There was no wine before, but now it's empty.

Spring mash gives birth to floating ants, when can we taste it better!

The old man cried beside me before the food box was full of me.

If you want to speak silently, you want to see things without light.

I used to sleep in Gaotang County, but now I live in Huangcao Township.

Once you go out, you will come back healthy.

Weeds are boundless and poplars are rustling.

In mid-September, severe frost sent me out of the outer suburbs.

No one lives on all sides, and the high graves wither.

The horse cries to the sky, and the wind is depressed.

It's not a thousand years since the secluded room was closed.

A thousand years later, there is nothing the wise can do.

Always send people away and return to their homes.

Relatives or sorrows, others have also sung.

What's the way to die? I'm on the same mountain.

4. Are there any poems about death? A thought dies thousands of miles away, and a drunken thousand years away. There is only one looking back at the world. Inscription (1) If I look at a flower, I will die. When I climbed carefully along the calyx, I was dying. When I bloomed with this flower, I was dead. Death is easy for me. (2) No high wall can stop my freedom. No misfortune can awaken my sadness. I am lighter than Baiyun. I am happier than a beam of sunshine. I have as many gardens as there are jungles in the world. My eyes are as many as the stars in the night sky. As a seed, I have died, because I have grown into a tree. As a tree, I have died, because I have blossomed. Because I bear fruit, I die as a fruit. Because I have become a seed again. As a seed, I will be reborn. (4) Let those who curse me be intoxicated, those who use me regret it, and those who know my name sigh, but those who love me, please don't cry, because I have never left. When an elegant breeze blows through your hair, that's when I wave to you. When a cool rain falls from your head, that is, I am the light. Kiss you gently. When inexplicable flowers meet you unexpectedly, it is my sweet breath around you at dusk. I am a sunset on your arm. I am a ray of moonlight, illuminating your dreams. I dance on your eyelashes and run on your fingertips. I pray for you silently where you can see. (5) Don't visit my graveyard. I have never lived there, although they carved my tombstone so beautifully. My coffin smells rich, but my paradise is by no means this narrow cemetery. Don't let that beautiful bunch of flowers cry innocently on the cold stone steps. Although my decaying body is respectfully placed here by others, it will rot in the mud forever like a fallen leaf. Please believe that my sacred soul will never choose this place to live. As a poet, I never lack romance and passion. The death I met was just an unbearable wind. Rain and garbage I have never been so awake as I am now, staring at your kind and pure eyes. (6) Please remember that I am not Jesus who was crucified, so don't treat me as a god and an idol just because I am dead. Kindhearted people, please believe that life is a beautiful paradise, a poem that any poet wants to express but can't describe. Those wicked people can still make waves. The trap you dig yourself will eventually bury yourself. I have seen those bloody hands sharpen the butcher knife and put it on my head. Those hypocritical politicians can also continue their funny performances. The lies they weave will eventually deceive themselves. I saw that their bodies were only a pile of gloomy bones, and those profiteers who were mercenary were stepping into the bottomless abyss step by step. Their reputation is ruined and their souls are restless for a moment. I clearly saw them shaking their heads and passing them when they gave false testimony in the church. (7) In this way, I can only watch this rotating world endlessly stage one different tragicomedy after another, but there is nothing I can do. The so-called heaven is actually in my heart. The so-called death is just waking up and seeing your true colors.

5. The tragedy of modern life disaster poems.

Text/Li Zheye

The envy of heaven makes the world sad, so I want to punish it and reduce the strange disaster.

Although the city market is still strong, the road has been blocked.

All people call for rain or shine. Together, they can clear the dark clouds.

After experiencing great disasters, we must know that great love has not failed.

Pay attention to the Ludian earthquake. 20 16: 30, an earthquake of magnitude 6.5 occurred in Ludian county, Yunnan province. 1088400 people were affected, 6 17 people were killed,12 people were missing, and 3 143 people were killed. After the earthquake, all parts of the country concentrated on the rescue and reconstruction of Ludian County, and there was great love in the disaster.

6. Three original poems about death were written by Xiao Yue.

First, modern poetry

Always before going to bed

It feels like you're facing me at the window.

I don't want you to hear me cry.

I don't want you to see my tears.

But I suddenly miss you.

It has become a habit.

Always in the laughter around you.

It feels like you're at the other end of the wave.

Turn off the phone because there is no electricity.

I really want to hear your familiar voice.

I really want to tell you a thousand words from my heart.

Because without your laughter, it has nothing to do with me.

Because losing your heart is a wasteland.

Always in a noisy street where people come and go.

It feels like you're watching quietly in midair.

The line of sight only revolves around me.

Even though my appearance is so outstanding.

Even though my clothes are so crude.

It's just that you know where I'm going.

I know my walking route

Second, ancient poetry

If life is death and death is life,

Life, death, death, life.

Past lives are destined for this life,

Together in the next life.

Life is like a lamp,

Dont Ask For Help is always bright.

I wish I could shine on the ecliptic and be frightened by ghosts in ghost towns.

The evil forces are gone, and the moon is bright and the wind is clear.

You don't have to look for him in public,

Two lights set each other off in the distance, and my heart is Ming Che.

Third, modern poetry.

Spirit says to life: life says to spirit:

You are here, so I am here, you are here, so I am here.

You are there, I have a skeleton, you are there, I have color.

You didn't. I wandered. Where did I cling? How can I be deaf without you?

7. Urgently ask for an answer to a modern poem about death and life. North Island meanness is the passport of the despicable, and nobility is the epitaph of the noble. You see, the gilded sky is full of crooked shadows of the dead.

The ice age has passed, why is there ice everywhere? The Cape of Good Hope has been discovered. Why did Qian Fan compete in the Dead Sea? I came to this world with only paper, rope and pictures in order to understand the voice of being tried before the trial. To tell you the truth, I don't believe in this world! Even if there are 1000 challengers under your feet, count me as the 10 1 th.

I don't believe that the sky is blue, I don't believe in the echo of thunder, I don't believe that dreams are false, and I don't believe that death has no retribution. If the ocean is destined to burst its banks, let all the bitter water pour into my heart. If the land is destined to rise, let mankind choose the peak of survival again.

A new turning point and sparkling stars filled the open sky. That's a hieroglyph of 5,000 years, and that's the eyes that people will stare at in the future.