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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The World Has Fallen Today
The World Has Fallen Today
The world fell apart this morning, the music that once played upon my heart has grown silent. The world is still, but I am moving. I watch with sympathy and tears as this world tears apart. I see flowers strangled by violent hands from merely having petals of different shades.
I see tongues twist from the hardest soils only to poison the innocent. I feel myself floating, lost in this chaos as I struggle to lend a hand. As I praise the goodness I see. As I spread kind words to those around me and stand against the corruption of heart. I praise the goodness with prayer, with love, with an open heart and a blade. A blade set to cut the rotted tongues from our soils.
I praise goodness as I watch the floods that sweep through villages like visible plague. But I see hands reaching deep into the illness, deep into the disease and pull free the weak. Though their hands may become ill and they may pass from this life to the next.
I watch in horror as evil speaks with black clothes and a hidden face. As young minds corrupt the word of mouth. As truth becomes distorted for ones own pleasurable rise. But I do not feel anger, but sorrow, grief, for these souls. For they have been swallowed by the devils lust. Fed with a feast of lies from which is served in the temptation of movement, of change. But what I see is hate, anger, and naive blindness.
But I do not fear the out comes of these distorted souls, nor the out come of this world. For these ill brought tongues, need only a moment of truth. Though it may come with a blunt edge. Truth is no fool to corruption and the devils eye. For like the shifting of the earth. it will be felt by all.
For no soul deserves the being of hate for the devil has already brought a brimming pale. And children have been sold the devils spoiled fruits at the hands of their own blood.
I do not fear, for I know I place is at my suffering in front of me. And I burden each ounce of it with the desire to act well upon others and give more than I have. I am a man of poverty, of anxiety, and a broken heart.
But I wish no ill acts upon any, for no hate breeds wealth, health, or kindness. I am but a soul who was no better off, than the tongues that poison. But I no longer breed gardens upon ill soils, soils of pity, soils of lies, soils of pompous rhetoric.
I only act to plant seeds of new, seeds of plenty, seeds that grow from suffering but bloom with life. The world has fallen today, but I bring faith to the table, and I bring it for all.
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…