Waltz of the Winter Wolves

Reason might tell you because it is cold
and logic for means of survival,
but not do they know of the wind and the snow
nor the come of the waltz’s revival.
Titanium wolves on a canvas of white
pace around until each of them halts,
as they snarl and stare all spectators beware
here commences the pace of the waltz.
Paws put to purpose, perpetually frozen
the face of the body at hand.
Laws linger, worthless, though all might desert this
it’s they who together will stand.
Eight legs in the open, intrinsically broken
are hopes of the waltz and her prey.
Beware as you will, for the dance it will kill
if for too long spectating you stay.
Cumbersome climax of cordate confessions,
obsessions of those who perform.
Though lusting to love is not loving for lust
it is just settled dust of the storm.
All is begotten by bay or by burden,
concerning the marvels arisen,
but all is forsaken of silence, awakened
the light of the day as a prison.
Hyemal hyenas, the winter between us
in glory you waltz all alone.
In empty arenas, with distance between us
your story won’t halt, so behold:
your story now starts to be told.