Modern lyric poetry

Modern poetry, also known as "vernacular poetry", can be traced back to the late Qing Dynasty, which is a kind of poetry. Let's take a look at modern poems expressing emotions for your reference only! thank you

One: the past or the past did not go with the water,

The sun shines on the winding side of the river bank.

Moonlight is like a crying face,

Where there is no memory,

There is no distance apart,

Or a small bridge listening to the running water quietly,

Leng Yue, go straight.

If it weren't for you, the years would have been old.

Dark air, a depression.

Don't look up, look into the distance.

The moment when history stopped.

Or meet you, life is meaningful.

Who let spring flow in the east,

I once dreamed of staying in that place.

Those things, they didn't respond,

There is no answer to those words.

Memory didn't lie, I just forgot to tell you.

Past, no past.

Two: There will always be time. For example, your beautiful and wonderful time will always become precious because you miss it.

Your plain face in the sun

This is the fog in the morning light

I like every night.

Wrap your mind around your numb body.

Time has taken away this memory.

In the wheat field in the distance

It smells like our youth.

Fangfang is carrying a bunch of burning buds.

On the lake I love.

The wind is your breath.

Rain is your crystal tears.

When the world is full of storms,

I have you.

In the right season

Years are like flowers

I will be you.

Three: I repeatedly describe lonely words.

Our happiness together.

Accompanied by blue and white melodies

The outline of that memory is getting clearer and clearer.

I listen to the lonely voice.

Write lonely words

Forget each other

After the baptism of time

I feel very painful.

On the way, I was even more confused.

Sublimate with a little pity for fate

Time and again moved by frustrated parting.

It feels foggy and windy again.

Perhaps this is a rare beauty.

My feelings are fading away. In love.

Repeatedly daub

Maybe this is not my intention.

I pursue the past.

There is no smell of you.

Sad again

In the maple leaves in late autumn

In the city where catkins are dancing.

On a snowy night

I am looking forward to flowers.

Buried my life's waiting

Let my world fall apart.

Wandering aimlessly in the sheltered space

Sincerely believe in romance

That's why I pursue my wish alone.

That belief, that pursuit

This is a lonely waiting period.

Deeply engraved in the calm undercurrent

Four: The ending of youth has been written.

All the tears have also flowed out.

Suddenly forgot.

What kind of beginning?

in ancient times

A summer gone forever.

No matter how hard I pursue it,

Young you

It's like passing clouds.

And your smiling face

Extremely shallow and light

Gradually become unknown

Clouds after sunset

Then open the yellow title page.

Fate predestined it.

Extremely clumsy

With tears in my eyes

I read it again and again.

But I have to admit.

youth

This is a sloppy book.

Five: In the wind at the end of the season.

Two slightly abrupt thin backs

On a busy street

With the coolness of Xu Xu.

Stand with your back

Casual indulgence and spoil.

Blinded the eyes that were not clear.

It also blurs the lonely coast ahead.

He once said.

She is a lingering spring rain.

And myself

Is a wanderer who is nostalgic for the scenery

Since then, it has been fixed in her eternal February.

A white lie unconsciously turned into a ridiculous betrayal of self-deception.

midnight

The bell on the wall shattered the confused virtual.

Between the ups and downs of breathing, you can still feel the smell of Manzhu Shahua in the empty room.

It's always sad. After another continuous rain, the sky cleared up.

No matter how fascinated a wanderer is, he will have a warmth for his hometown.

When I have seen too many similar scenes.

Become supercilious and as cold as ice.

The last parting

There is only one sentence left

I believe in love.

But I don't want to trust you anymore.

Hu Bing valley bottom

How much frost and snow does the sadness and joy of sleeping in the coffin contain?

It turns out that this imaginative plot is not just a patent written by the author.

Is this desolate season a sign that the fire is out?

I guess it must be. ...

Six: Wrong. I walked through Jiangnan.

The appearance in the season is like the opening and falling of lotus flowers.

If the east wind does not come, catkins will not fly in March.

Your heart is like a little lonely city.

Like a bluestone street facing the night.

Without a sound, the spring curtain in March can't be lifted.

Your heart is a small closed window.

My dada horseshoe is a beautiful mistake.

I am not a returnee, I am a passer-by. ...

Seven: falling dust suddenly feels so humble.

Like mist in the air.

Nobody knows me.

No one knows more.

I didn't cry.

Heartbreaks are everywhere.

For me, the sun is no longer shining.

But a burning wound.

Take off the cheerful disguise on the surface.

I want to know who will give me hope to open my heart.

Like dust.

Eight: the world of mortals sighed and rushed into the rivers and lakes empty-handed.

Three years of mediocre dreams have not come true.

Life is like a day,

Don't force a hundred years of fame.

I often recall the scenery in Huang Liang's dream.

The iron man gallops in Kingoma.

Three glasses of wine,

A pot of Millennium tea.