Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Upon this field of ice and snow,
my breaths in buoyant billows blow.
On countless miles of ice I stand,
alone and cold in this cruel land.
My eyes are blinded by the light
that sears the frigid air
within this empire of white;
the Frost God's mountain lair.
Why I am here I cannot say
and do not wish to know,
for I was once a man who loved
these fields of ice and snow.
My feet and hands are deathly cold
I cannot sense them much.
My face is caked in winter's shroud,
I feel its final touch.
My legs won't move
and eyes won't see
and I no longer care,
I'll go to that which beckons me;
the Frost God's mountain lair.
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
Land of The Dead, the poetry of oblivion
Thơ CaThe end? The beginning? The great drama, the great conflict. It is the culmination of our lives, it is the destination we have journeyed towards since birth, and we have no idea what it is. Disaster, death, celebration. What drives us? what defines...
