Hi, My name is Micah Park Biffle, I am the author of ' A Man's Traveled Heart,' I am a Veteran who found his way back through writing. I consider myself an architect of the imagination. Here you will see my creations come to life. My short stories, poems, my thoughts, and a little touch of my life.
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A Dead Dreamer
A Dead Dreamer
They are grotesque, dull in vision, dull in life. They speak with disease, with illness. They see grey upon all flowers, mountains, and rain. They look no further than their breath, they speak no further than their day.
They find feast upon the damned, upon the withering fields of souls. Plucking newly planted seeds and devour with delight. They shackle their surrounding with bitter taste and soils of resentment. They spit at the nourishment of water. They poison their own wells and gladly share the contaminated. They see no fault in the dwelling of self.
They shift their tongues like the devil, they lurk in the hate of their own shadow. They seek no peace, only slaughter. Praising in the pain of their massacre. If murder was able, they would find themselves painted in blood. An abomination they be, sweltering in the anguish of the plain. Finding the finest escape in the false actions of flesh. It is in their shoes they find poverty of the soul.
Their is little hope for these broken, angered, and smut repleted minds. They carry fading winds like a child to its prized possession. They shriek and scream of horrors of life. Distorting their lips with
misconception, becoming slaves to their own lies. Finding false truth in their fiction.
These are dead dreamers, these are not who we should be.
The Scar of War And His Suicide To Escape It
He returned with a heavy heart. With a fierce storm raging in rain, thunder, and dark clouds. Memories of war collided beneath his chest. His lost brothers he could feel in the very bones of his soul. Nothing felt the same in this place he called home.
No words could describe the surmountable anguish that tore each second at his mind, creating a vast chasm. Loneliness slowly consumed him. Leaving him branded as a mental case, coming unhinged to reality. Drowning in the constant flavor of hops. Leaving no moment to be sober. Covering the storm with another, that if the fog became to thick to see, then his pain did not exist.
Flooded with anxiety of what he left behind in the chaos of war. He could not escape the nagging of all the thoughts he prayed to forget. Tarnished he felt, guilty, burdened, he felt far from a hero. Though each friend, each member of his family embraced him as one.
And on each night of his return, he sat at that foot o…
A Boy and A War
The train had just left the station, his thoughts creep with nostalgia as he watches is home fade into the horizon. His chest holds a nervous wreck, only seventeen and knows nothing beyond his home. He wears an old green t-shirt with red lettering that reads, The Red Menace is real.
His hair short, cut in the manner of a well respected boy. His eyes glitter with sadness as he has to leave everything behind. He knew this day would come but he wasn't ready, he had just graduated high school and was ready for adventure.
But now, he is well pressed into the chaos of the world. About to be armed in the fighting against a world enemy. For months he had heard the stories and updates of the war on the nightly radio. But it was all too surreal that he will now be part of such stories.
He can still hear the radio announcer speaking of the enemy bombarding the world as if to rid it of cancer. As the train moves further from his home he can still feel the tears of his mother…
To those that are depressed, I bring you these words and hope they fill the belly of your soul and nourish your heart,
Today, may be tougher than the former or maybe not. Maybe, today is like any other day, you struggling to remove yourself from your bed is but a wishful feat and nothing more. As you are coiled in the monotony of sadness that seeps from you like foul breath; from a desperate evening of melancholy. Maybe, the mere action to place a smile upon your face may feel like lifting the world from your chest.
I know these feelings well, I know them as well as I know the color of my eyes. I know when even a sunrise is no more joyful than a slaved day at work. When the world is pressing you into the unimaginable sinking of despair.
Where the air is thin but anxious thoughts a rabid. Where colors fade and all you see is grey and the whispers of death sound so sweet. Maybe you have fallen much further than I, where the act of infliction's don't jus…