Poetry about the spirit of moths, used in recitation competitions!

Who dares to touch the burning pain

Who dares to approach the moment of death?

A thousand times

Ten million moths

Jump in the same position

Jump on the flame that has never been extinguished for thousands of years.

Jump into the ridiculous spirit of thousands of years.

On this cold winter night

Who saw it in the dark?

There are thousands of moths around the jumping fire.

Suck hot milk on the fire.

Drink the thick smell of fire.

Soft music and beautiful dance.

Until the last moment of life

Thousands of moths are covered with black cloth.

Layers are stacked around the lit altar.

Zhuang Mu's recitation is a dark poem.

Only those who were aboveboard before their death.

Perform the most beautiful dance of your ancestors.

Embroidered holy white dress

Fly to the nine-fold refining fire

one by one

Pass the immortal torch

Moths pounced on the candle flame.

Good, brave action.

The moth aimed at the center of the blazing flame.

Fierce secret without saying a word

Like a precise kite attack.

Then I heard spasms and pains.

And the sound of wings landing

Like a nirvana phoenix torn by beauty.

Moths crave fire more than once.

In the dark and crowded night

They accept the joy of death as if they were engaged.

Pave the way with faith and corpses

They prayed to the light for their final glory.

afterburnt

Moths are not reckless inertia.

Understand the ancient fire totem

And the meaning of light brought by kindling.

We are embraced by flames like newborn babies.

We feel deeper kindness than wheat.

First of all, moths

It's not that I'm too sad

It's not that I lost myself.

I just fell in love with your firefly late at night.

Loneliness burns in the quiet corner.

Without my bitter tears

Without your promise

Don't hesitate to throw yourself into your arms

Just a song in my life.

Mild trap

Burn me and wander.

Bright sparks

Is your heart warm?

My heartbreaking smile

Have your eyes stopped?

Frozen sad song of heartbreak

The legend of freezing love

Hall

This winter night, the wind has been singing.

Sing a song I don't understand.

The silence of nature and the noisy dawn

And the sunshine I've never seen clearly

Modern and abstract, like curled smoke torn by the wind.

I'm sure it's the wind

Make a mess of the night

Wildfire in the dark

The traveler is gone.

Let me burn quietly

Swing in the wind

Where are you from, dear?

Touch my loneliness.

Where are you going, my baby?

Let me be swallowed up by the night and the cold wind

Your dance moves in my eyes.

Dancing with the sadness of the night

You said you wanted to protect me from the cold.

I said I would drive away the endless darkness for you.

You said you would fly close to me and give me the burning of life.

I said I want to hug you and give you a warm baby.

Your dance is fixed in my arms.

Suddenly I saw your tears.

Dear people.

Did you hear my heart break with a bang?

Three years later.

Many people walked quietly through the dawn and dusk of this piece of birds and flowers.

There was a song in the distance that no one could understand.

Who is still dancing in the beautiful rhythm?

Who is still dancing with burning tears?

Who is still flying to extinction without hesitation?

Who will smile in the fire and say that there is no regret in this life?

Many people have heard of it.

Pedantic moths and persistent wildfires

A sad song, a broken heart

The legend of love death

No one found the moth that once burst into tears.

No one is looking for a wildfire that once burned with passion.

Maybe it's just red-hot rocks on the edge of the jungle.

Still trying to tell the legend of the past

Ode to moths (poetry)

(A) the pursuit of light

Jumped at the fire again and again.

Burn again, no regrets

Their offspring carry phototaxis genes.

To light a bright fire.

(2) Persistence in the goal

In turn, I rushed to the lantern that lit kerosene.

Jumped at the blazing incandescent lamp

Jumped at the cold fluorescent lamp.

Against the light of the energy-saving lamp magnetic storm.

If there is no light at night, it is just around the corner.

They will pounce on the faint moonlight

They will pounce on the distant stars.

Even against lightning that breaks trees.

Jump into the light of self-destruction

Run to the light and smash into pieces

I hope the light doesn't look back.

Dream of bright self-sacrifice

Lift a burning heart

Receive the lovesickness of moths hitting the wall

Accept the ideal flight of moths

Become a moth in Liang Zhu's music

(3) Imagination of leaves and moths

In the cry of autumn wind in the long night

Soak in the autumn rain in the morning

Watch the trees fly down.

A moth is in a place

Step on the yellow body of a moth

Illusion. They germinate in spring.

Summer growth

autumn

Autumn rain outside the window hits in the early morning.

Warm tears flowed in through the window.

Moth wet on the ground.

Dance gently on the floor with the wind

In the morning, the sweeper collected the bodies of moths.

Raise a burning mound

He used a bag of flour.

Feed the sheep with bright moths.

The child behind him.

Get a lighter.

Lit a pile of moths.

Moths burn and fly.

(4) Happy moths

The weather is getting sunny every day.

Moths ate, drank, exposed and dormant in the green space.

Become a good meal for others in birdsong and Yan language.

Fly to the light at night and become a snack for bats.

The short and brilliant life of moths.

He can't remember how much sadness.

His happy short life.

Fly to the light happily, fly.

(5) Tragic moths

Among the colorful butterflies.

Looking for black and white moths

Even hope that color blindness is incomplete.

I only see moths.

Watch the big moths eat the little moths.

Moth-eating bird

The bird became a moth.

The bird-eating moth is an eagle.

A dazzling world of moths

Eager to spread your wings and fly

Fly to a quiet distance

Nothing moves there.

Immobile moths piled up in layers.

Coral where elephants grow.

There is a dead man in the dark.

But active ethnic groups

Coral ash and flowers

The moth passed through the porthole of the plane.

Fell on the land he loved.

The moth that carries on the past and opens the future is looking forward to the light.

(6) Rising moths

Burning moths after autumn rain

Light up the light of deep winter.

Snowflake moth.

Fly quietly

In the world of white moths

Small integration and large extension

Because there is a moth's mind hidden.

The snowfield will burn in the sunset.

Coral covered with moths

Of all the angles of refraction,

All reveal the flying soul.

Calling for flying snowflakes

Conclusion:

Life rises in flying blood bubbles.

If you don't fly, you will die.

Be down-to-earth.

You can't take a solid step.