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.
YOU ARE READING
A Mind's Eye
PoetryA collection of poems grown from myth and mind. Gods, monsters, and mortal men in a variety of poetic forms. Narratives and allegories as deeply rooted in the psyches of modern humanity, as in the civilizations that planted those seeds. Songs from d...
