writing
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The Cold Moon
by Michael Plante A square stone made of onyx sits on a shelf in my mind. It holds the cold moon of December. The shelf is in a closet which is in a room, a closed door keeps the closet… Continue reading
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Like Butterflies at Night
by Michael Plante Secrets buried beneath the soilthought forgotten by those that deceivebut all misdeeds cut the souland blackness seeps out like blood.The structure that houses their Godfalls silent in the nightthe sickness remainsthe floors rotten. At dusk they fall… Continue reading
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Dusk’s Request
by Michael Plante I asked the Creator for a strand of his hairI asked the crow for a featherI asked the tree of life for a branchI asked the ground for her gems.Songs of peace that I learned so long… Continue reading
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Kissing Sky
by Michael Plante I was born with the spirit of a horsethe strength I have can move a mountainand drag a thousand years across a desert with ease;endure a harsh storm brought on by the darknessand run faster than a… Continue reading
The Poet's House 