Snow.

It gathers in dust,
and scatters from the light,
sleek and glowing,
the intensity is a fright,
torn into bits,
lurking from side to side,
ravenous movements,
creeping as it glides,
shriveling amongst the darkened sky,
lying in the cold earth,
finding new impulsions,
doubting its worth,
blinding the enlightened,
eating the hunters who cause them harm,
the prey who feasts within,
a scar too short of an alarm,
weighted down from the heaviness,
encased within its chest,
the chasm is awakening,
the cavity of death,
immortal or inhuman,
its plight is yet foretold,
its seeks revenge for courage,
its last option is to fold,
collapsing under its own greatness,
the rising of its downfall,
what was worth the taking,
snow is what its called.