In My Alaska Winters Tale

the wooden door is pulled open,

its safe protective seal broken,

my blanket of warmth is defaced;


stale-dry-frigid air rushes in,

falls briskly upon my skin,

the comfortable shelter is replaced;


on the smooth blue-tiled-floor, mist rolls,

like wispy-white escaping souls,

winter’s suffocating grip takes hold;


the ill-placed-heater roars to life,

it hisses and groans and struggles and strifes,

to warm me and fight off the cold;


a truly epic battle rages,

as it has through all the ages,

but already time has shown who will win;


I feel it in my toes, in my heels,

the warmness leaving, the cold reveals,

a desperate longing for where I’ve been;


I bring my foot up off the floor,

unable to take anymore,

of my shivering frame that is frail;


in defeat, the door is pushed closed,

the coldest story ever told,

in my Alaska winters tale.


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About Matthew Schroder

There is no shortage of science fiction reading here. No lack of appreciation for beards, love of coffee or obsession over blueberries.