Night Of The Werewolf

I breathe in the trees, the crisp cool night, so right.

I breathe in the stars - their blue light.

I breathe in the silhouettes - against the sky.

Those things of the ground and sounds around.

I breathe now, so deep, the night.

By Michael Thomas Mink-Mica

3-20-2013

Gray

Gray, there is no form, direction, way. Gray invites malaise.

With grey comes aches, rain, and mind numbing pain.

With gray one can only wait, for that bright sunny day.

Michael Thomas Mink - Mica

10-13-2014