Micah Park Biffle

Your Mind Is The Reason The World Can Design Minds meet, they think and think, build and create. They design, they speak, they leave the world in a brilliance of rhymes. Creating lines that leaves ones lips tasting like lime. Putting all things in line with the imagination of minds. For only a minute, is one in its prime. Pushing static aside, becoming alive. Let all things from the mind commit no crime. But the ones that many think, are stupid, and far from the sublime. Sometimes the mine is perfect on time. But other times, one moment the words are blind. Ideas seem to never coincide. Then out of the side. The world of words, becomes so divine. They twist and wind, like whispering vines. Why would any one wish to leave this world behind. For minds scratch and carve and slowly grow hard. But are always ready to rip ideas a far. Bringing new things that could never be thought, but from the human mind. Two lines, three lines, the chatter that strides. Bath the mind wi...

Hope you enjoy the read.  Death Grows In Addiction To Misery  He sits alone as his fingers guide with frighting perfection across each key. His window drawn open, the wind, in its cold presence. Brings his breath visible to the eye, but he ignores the frigid presence of nature. His eyes fixated to the ivory keys at hand. His senses lost in the beauty of notes that show no trembling from the cold. Not even he, finds himself freezing to the lips of winter. His heart, he feels it weeping with hollow wishes. His soul, falling like stone to the chasm of his empty chest. But as winters whispers its way into his home. His skin becomes colder with each passing note. But still, he pays no mind to the changing of his flesh. His breath now lingers in the air for a moment long enough to envision shapes. Shapes like one does in the afternoon sky upon the clouds. His eyes grow heavy as he plays furiously in the moment. Rain begins to pour, it rushes into his home, slowly it f...

Follow me on  Facebook Fear Is A Beast There, at the top of Mount Revered, lies a beast. Its eyes made of flames, its soul as dark as the deepest ocean. Its voice rumbles like thunder breaking clouds. And its holds no intention for the calming of its surroundings. It reaps destruction with each breath upon this mountain. And in its raging, its brings storms that flood the lands below it. It brings clouds that blacken the skies for days. Leaving those below, to wonder if the sun will ever be. It has no taste for sympathy, for the broken or poor. Its smiles with loathing eyes as it sees those who live below it dance in the sun, dance in the rain. Though the beast bears nothing but a tongue lusting for carnage, many find no fear to it. It builds itself upon the fear of itself, of others willing to cry for it. This beast is no fool the weeping of beings. The temptations they follow and the voices that plague them with ailments. Its has grown root in the thoughts of ...

I Close My Eyes To Live I am twisted in the fate of life, its hands mold and knead with precision. Though I wish to resist its envious hands. I do not become complacent in my own doing. For life may be a bitter voice, but in the bitterness, I taste the sweet nectar of destiny that leads with milky lips. For I have found that in the anger of life, there is happiness. And in the pains of life, I have found a seed that sprouts a mighty root. A root that grounds me from the storms. And I am able to grow to the heavens. To reach the stars and talk among the moon. And on the moon, I reach into my pocket of tears and plant them one by one, carefully. And in the planting I hear my broken heart weep for each. For each tear, had given me release of the hollowed voices that whispered in my ears. And now, now drums of my magnificent imagination. Triumphantly conquer the lands of the damned that have spread like disease upon my thoughts. Life, may be a vile in its intentions, t...

A Dream of Love (A story from my up and coming book) The Bleeding Of Words   Oh! Where must one go to hold love. To keep it forever, never, having to set it free. ------------------------------------------------------ Where will my heart lead me, as I hold on to this misery? I can barely remember what it is like to feel. What it is like to find something beyond the pains of heartache. Beyond the walls, I have constructed. Nothing feels the same, nothing tastes the same. The world has become bland in all thoughts, views, and sounds. Note even the air holds any sustenance to my life. I feel bare and empty as any attempt to feel wisps over me. I feel as if the earth is nothing more than deserted endless hearts bleeding for more than their past. More than the pain that lingers behind their chest like an itch to the back of the throat. I look at the sun in mid evenings eye, as it casts shadows as strangers walk by. The trees pose skeleton to the cold fall. My ...

Happy Thanksgiving  The Small Things Bring Life   Hi everyone, this is just a little letter I want to write. A letter that will hopefully help you find things you are thankful/grateful for. I have found that the best way to become thankful and stay thankful. Is to guide the heart to being thankful for the small things in life. The things we have in our daily lives that bring us the things we enjoy and need in life. Things like the rain, rain gives us so much. Even though it comes with the dreary crowd of clouds. The rain gives the world the ability to grow things, to bring hydration to the smallest things in the world. Things that even our eyes can't see. And each little thing in someway helps keep the big things going, like trees. Which gives us clean air to breathe. So that we may continue to embrace the beauty of life and be able to venture outside. We can even be thankful for the mere thought to be able to speak, write, or communicate in general. So ...

Follow me on  Twitter A Thankful Sacrifice Voices gather throughout this home, as a fire is lit, and music plays softly as children dive rigorously  into their imagination. Smells christen the air as they waltz across the sense of pleasurable memories that bring no burden.  The music delicately coats the home like the rising color of crimson along the morning horizon. All is certain in this moment as all have this day in common. No one is forgotten, no go hungry in this is this day that glistens.  Cheerful spirits lift this home from any friction and all become gladdened. The weather frosts the grounds but in here, among the fire, that plays with a hot hand of a chemical heathen. None are opposed or notice the cold. As they drink and laugh among the sweet scent of lemon.  The elders gather the children and begin to tell tales of the magical huntsman. The one that saves the princess from an evil legion. And finds himself against a tho...

Take your soul for a ride  A Man's Traveled Heart Death Over Public Speaking  It builds like the suds of soap, but lacks the ability to bring cleanliness. I feel it boiling in my gut, wretchedly pulling at my nerves. Sweat seeps like droplets of rain upon my head. I look into the distance and I see a thousand faces. Bearing with stern eyes, but some stare with no intent to care. But still, I worry with what may be said if my tongue becomes tied. If I trip upon my own thoughts like a drunk. Slurring to the next as I blush with crimson. Worry hurdles itself at my heart, rushing my mind with what I know is foolish thought. But I cling to it for it is what I know, to pause my heart like a victim. To succumb to the horns of fear, and as fear pierces my thoughts and drags me through its muddled darkness. My hands become tremors of my flesh, my eyes become nervous in view. And I clench with the misery of fear. I become a bucket for it fill, to billow over till I c...

Follow me on  Twitter A Thorn In A Letter  There is a letter that sits atop my heart, but is hidden in a drawer. A letter of love that was stained with my tears upon a broken heart and drying veins. I wrote with passion though we were nothing more than thorns to flesh. But each thorn holds a rose, does it not? But we never planted our roots in the same garden. My fear soured what could have been, leading us, never to bloom. And in the shadows of my whiskey filled nights. Where my heart would slumber and my tears would bleed. I found myself, with ink in hand spilling words of regret, of romance, fantasy, and rage. And along this letter came a weeping heart, holding a tainted bud that grew ill before the summer. Only to wilt upon futile attempts to make us whole. But winter came, suffocating any hope for a dream. Bringing a frozen tundra of empty mountains that grew stale to the eye. They became hidden in the dismal view of my pocketed heart. Locked away in a box ...

The Desert Of A Grudge  The sand hails its presence with a mighty wind. The sounds of tumble weeds bristle along the desert stones as rough hands hold to cold steel. fingers grip with intensity, as brass is sent into a chamber for its final descent into flesh. The sun sits high in the sky with a ghostly silhouette between the horizon and clouds. Its heat scorches with envy, as if jealous to never step foot upon land. And as the sun hangs in its envious state, two men steel for steel, stare with much grim. Their faces scuffled and dry from the harsh desert heat. Their lips cracking from the absents of hydration. Their teeth tinted in yellow from cigars and whiskey. And though they stand ready to die, neither wavers in fear. No trembling of hands, no anxious welts appear upon their face. Their eyes steady in the moment, ready for the end, ready to commit to the hands of death. All is silent in this moment as the two stare with no intent to move any further. Vultur...

The Taste of Love, Will It Ever Be Mine?  When will I find my lips upon the sweet taste of love? Lost to its scent like the aromal smell of roses upon skin. Will there be an end, beneath an apple tree buried next to my other half? Or will I drown in the soiled pity of my heart as whiskey stains my veins? For I find the misery of myself to be a dull company, but yet its tingles with addiction. And I draw my eyes close to the empty halls of the damned. Screaming for peace but always find myself chocking on pride. Lost in a dense fog I created in the heat of breath upon my frozen heart. Distant am I, in the reaches of tears. For they have no existence in the forefront of my mind, nor heart. Some may call me hollow, lackluster in the dreams of my own thoughts. What is one without the acceptance of tears, without the bravery to step into the engagement of vows? How does one truly go beyond his own vicious habits if there lies no other to call them out? I hear my soul wh...

Fallen To Society  It starts out grand, glorious, magical, with a slight hint of reality. All things are new, all things transpire in extraordinary breath. Our eyes gleam with excitement with each passing day. Till we no longer can remain in shuttering struggle to stay awake. Even the stars are miraculous, bleeding with a stupendous view. Leaving not a moment for us to think the world is otherwise.  Our innocents compliments our curiosity, though we may find ourselves behind a pointed finger of anger. Only to end up with a smile so splendid, those that care, but must punish, can no longer remain riddled with temper. We charm our way with pleasant laughter and doughy eyes. We find our hearts to brim with happiness, with most ambitious dreams. And when we learn to speak, though limited it may be. We become an adventure of why. Seeking answers though we may have no sense. Only to antagonize the elders to feel the limits of their patience. And unknowingly, we become m...

Here, in front of me stands a mirror. Its gleams with pristine cleanliness as I drag my eyes faithfully along its edges. Wondering, what purpose does it truly have, is this but another view of what I am? Searching Is Not The Answer  I retract my eyes from its edges allowing sullied breath to sink into my lungs. I release this breath with an odd sense of curiosity as breath settles upon the mirror. Now, with breath upon this mirror, I watch, as it fades almost instantly. As if disdained upon my presence. Only to leave in an almost translucent outline upon the glass. And again, my thoughts wander upon the condensation of my breath.  And in watching it fade, I ponder, with intellectual eagerness , am I but not a breath from the universe, from God? Slowly fading upon the reaction of molecules and the designers final stroke of the brush. Am I not but a reflection of what another has drawn, for what naturalism can create such perfection mixed with such disaster? Playi...

The Thoughts Of Me Do not fault me for the mistakes I burden. Do not negate my word from the scars upon my soul. There is much beneath this fiery shell that heats the skies like the sun. I am more than the battered dreams that collapsed upon my broken lips and traveling fears. I am more than the narrowing paths that you wish to burn. Bridges have fallen and I have conceived new connections. Many before me have found solace in the broken and so have I. I have abandoned the treasures of relationships that pervert my words and degrade my thoughts to save my ship. For no ship can rescue if it sinks. And no soul can be salvaged with retched thoughts of pity. I have found recovery in embracing the winds of my torment and the blistering reigns of pain. These are but thoughts I have nourished and will continue to raise with each new breath, in each grain of passing sand. Do you embrace your pain or leave it to the shallow whims of pity?  Thank you for reading, if y...

Check me out on  Facebook Nostalgia Is But A Brute A breeze passes with gentle intentions. An aroma pursues the breeze with nostalgia, lifting me to a memory long ago. I knead it like dough, though I know I should let it go. For it is but a memory that floods with woe. It is an echo, left to the hollow lands of my mind, never to regrow. For those lands are the shattered, the broken, the lands that left me narrow in sight. Pecking at my soul like dead flesh for a crow. And though it may be a beautiful and birght, its drips of sorrow and lies with tragedy. And in this memory of this blissfully painful scent. I tiptoe, upon a scenario, I swore to never bring breath, as if I owe. And nostalgia, is but a false euphoria, a placebo. Leading one to a rodeo of emotional harrow, clambering to elegance, like the notes of a crippled piano. But I am foolish upon this memory, for I chamber it to my life like romance, call it my Romeo. And in it I die, I fall bleak to the o...

Follow me on  Facebook Love Had Passed In The Night We pass by in the night. No longer meeting with lips and composing songs or our souls. We had met in a despicable time, where my heart was dipped in the residue of animosity. And charred with the flames of suffering. I had dwelled for far too long in my own undoing. Drinking with selfish intent to drown my pain.  But like an illness, one cannot be cured by standing in the cold. And that is what I did, I stood, frozen in the cold. Twisting words like wire, creating a framework of my own lies. And foolishly I died, I let my soul collapse under the weight of my pity. As I hung from a cliff with angered patience, to be saved by another, when the ground was beneath my feet.  What a fool was I, playing tricks in my own mind. When seeing you, should have set me free, gave me hope in the darkest of nights. For your eyes captured perfection, your skin, smooth and golden like molasses. Your lips, sculpted upon y...

Grab a copy of my book  A Man's Traveled Heart A Stranger Among Himself  He sits alone among most the year. Scratching at the roof of his thoughts like a man barred to jail. Marking each day as it passes, hoping that someday all this will go away. That all the misery and suffering that is trapped inside, will fade like winter into the mouth of summer, bitter, but sweet, in the change. And in these passing days and the carving of upon his thoughts. He feels hollow, empty, like a vase meant for flowers. But a vase left to its cavernous body upon too many flaws. Though some hands draw close to it, they peel away with disgust. Almost as if to be repulsed from its design. And this is truly how he feels. And within crowds he is but a stranger, maybe a wave or two from acquaintances are tossed like meaningless words. And then he fades away from the crowd, back to the wall, eyes pressed into the ground like heavy stones. His heart racing upon any who approach, as...

Sacrificing A Kingdom, For an Island of Freedom  So, I am moving from my current place into a much different setting. I have lived in my current dwelling for almost five years. But now, my money, my time, my sanity, and my comfort are being wasted here. I feel stale and feel my soul being burdened with my reluctance for change. My financial situation is on a bit of a crutch, but nothing that can't be fixed with a simple down grade from where I am. For, far too long have I been planting my hard earned money into place that brings more stress than pleasure. The constant statements that exceed my pockets, well beyond what I truly believe should be paid for such living conditions. But, I cannot make improvements with disparaging comments upon my living space. So, I have decided to move in with two of my finest friends. One whom works for company that pays him well. And he is stretched with comfort of financial well being. While, I am skirting the prerequisite for becomi...

Follow me on Twitter They Swim Between the Beats of Our Hearts.  They are in our sleep, our minds, and our hearts. They linger in the dark like a passenger in an empty coach. Watching with reds eyes and a black soul. They chatter amongst each other like crooked politicians. Seeing what schemes they may press upon you with minimal resistance. Waiting for opportune times to stretch  your mind till it snaps.  Spilling all reasoning from it like spit from a Novocaine mouth. They shriek in hopes to bring you fear like a child lost in the moonlight. They fester like illness and scratching them only spreads them like a virus. And with no avail, no single soul has found a cure. For they breech all walls with little persistence.  They swim between the beats of our hearts and dwell in our veins. Waiting with absolute patience.  But what are they, you may ask?  They are but us, our reflection, our many faces we place upon our soul. Each face m...

follow me on  Facebook The Lust For Riches  The waves crash with furious might, the winds howl with a raging voice. Clouds crowd the skies, sparking with brilliantly lights. Not a single gap in the sky can be seen for miles. The horizon lay hidden behind the crashing waves. An ominous feel grips the air as sailors do their best to direct the ship. But natures forces, have become ever inpatient in swallowing the ship. Men are tossed over board like splinters pulled from flesh. The captain, with his patched covered eye and grim face. Stands his ground with every intent to survive the storm. His voice bellows with command as his men follow. But the hope to survive, is fading like the eye of lighthouse in a misty morning. Many of the captains men have become crazed in fear. The hand of nature has drawn them to a weakened state. Their faith in themselves has dwindled like the sun to this storm. Though, their captain stands ready to die till his last breath....

This Is My End  This could be my end, my end where my breath ceases to weave with the wonders of life. This could be where my words no longer linger in the depths of my heart. Where my shadows finally find the bitter nuggets of my regret, and devour them with thrill. I have many regrets, and though they haunt, I have found them to muse my words. To bring extraordinary thought to mind. Creating immense designs with the architecture of the soul. Building immortality between the lines of language. This, may be the moment I become ash and am whisked away to the heavens. To see everything or nothing, so be it the wish of God.  And where I end, upon my fall to earth, either in the pleasure of life, or in the misery of my own undoing. Either end, I have kissed the lips of life and danced with the wings of death. I have felt suffering and I lived happiness. I have found love, and I have lost it. I have drank in the spirit of life and been glutton in the spirit of man. A...

No Dream Left to The Trap Of Fear  Here, beneath this shadow of this tree she finds solace. Its branches bare as fall sets in, as the cold air arrests her lungs with a strange delight. Bird's sing with gentle chirps as she looks upon the view before her. A thousand feet scurry from one block to the next. Her heart quivering in fear for what is to come next of this unfortunate step. But her smile remains, strong, and unchanged. Her body is filled with peace, though her mind wishes to flood with anxiety. And anxiety, which she feels affectionately. For she knows wholly the tax these scurrying hundreds pay. As it burdens the air as they hurry with bland faces to meet the ticking of a clock, rushing with animosity for another's dream. Exchanging their soul for another's time. Waiting with each passing day as the hours add up to show value of their soul. And in this unpleasant view and the distilling of anxiety in the air. She closes her eyes and begins to weep. ...