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White Owls on the Ice

On the vast frozen plain,
where silence cuts through the air,
eyes emerge that tear through the shadows,
gazes that pierce the night.

Their feathers, winter flakes,
blend with the still snow,
but their burning pupils
keep watch like embers in the twilight.

They stalk, motionless, eternal,
guardians of the polar mystery,
and in their brief, stealthy flight,
the crystal of silence shatters.

The gaze of the white owl
is a blade that pierces the soul,
a lightning bolt in the cold tundra,
a secret that is never revealed.