Modern poetry is about ambition.

Mu Dan has no ideal portrait like a plant. He grows in spring and turns yellow in autumn. He can't sum up his life, and he can't give hope in the face of despair. People without ideals are like running water, why can't they hear its singing? It turned out that it was gradually silted up for real sediment and turned into a dirty pond. A man without an ideal is an empty house without a master. It closes the doors and windows tightly, and the walls of life are covered with dust. Outside, it knocks at the door, but inside, there is no sound. Then open it, life is crying: let an elf invade his heart from an evil distance and torture him enough, because he has seen the heaven on earth. Ideal is a maze. According to its logic, the farther you go, the less you reach your destination. Ah, ideal, what a wonderful feeling, but when it flows into the real ice cave, what you see is the wasteland in the north, which makes your rich heart lose everything. "I am the most reasonable idea, I stand on solid soil", but the reality is sinister quicksand, which only muddy feet can pass through. "I show people the noble road, and my light can penetrate your fog." No matter how many people have dedicated themselves to her, our wisdom ultimately comes from doubt. No doubt? Then follow her, like chasing a jack-o'-lantern.