Hi, My name is Micah Park Biffle, I am the author of ' A Man's Traveled Heart,' I am a Veteran who found in understanding of my self 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. (I AM SLOWLY MOVING OF BLOGGER< FOR NEW STORIES PLEASE CLICK THE "MEDIUM" LINK TO THE LEFT)
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 thousand henchmen, many which are trained horsemen. And in the telling of the story, the children become enthralled in the heroic nature of the huntsman.
They dash off from the story and imagine themselves the huntsman upon a stallion. Riding bravely through the evil queens land to fight the evil henchmen. But like all children, in the creation of an illusion. They bicker about who gets to play the champion. Only to end with much commotion, they drift from the audition.
And in the wild but delightful collection of this beautifully contorted cohesion. A giant bird is given in sacrifice to be humbled in the giving of life. To be thankful for the compassion that lives in this home. To be thankful, though some may have found a downfall, but have hands to help bring back their fallen emotion.
This is but a moment for all that brings a bright eruption of infectious unification, that creates a momentary Utopian symbolization of family constellations. This is what will create the memories to be shared for a life time of conversation.
A Beast Among the Flames
Lighting strikes the open plains setting the dry grass ablaze. Fires start to rise from the hill tops in the distance like signals. I can feel the heat from the flames that blaze only yards from me. The sweet scent of wet grass resonates against the smell of burning earth.
Smoke melds with the dark clouds above, forming a fondness for each other. I can feel my chest rising with heavy breaths as I prepare my mind. This is either the end or a start to another day. Kneeling on one knee I press myself up and stand.
I look around me as the world before me looks as if hell is bursting from earth. In the chaos I find serenity, for I am built for this, trained for this.
I finished my indulgence of my surroundings and pull my sword from the ground.
I raise it with my right hand pulling it near my chest. The point of my blade stands five inches above my head. I close my eyes and start to rhythmically pound the armor of my chest with my other hand.
"Let your umbrella unfold, dance beneath the rain when others won't shelter you with the echoes of love my dear." Her mother said as she kissed her upon the forehead.
Sophia looking up at her mother smiles as she holds her pink umbrella above her head. Her mother, raising up from the kiss takes Sophia by the hand and they begin to walk. Sophia, only five and her father off on a business trip, her mother becomes lonely.
And so they walk, they walk through evenings, mornings, dusk's and dawns. Watching the graceful colors of sunsets and sunrises. Sophia's mother teach's her to admire the colors before them. Not just the wonderful vibrant colors, but also the dull. The gloomy streaks of darkness.
For everything has a purpose in this world. From the thunder storms to clear skies. Sophia, holding her mother's hands as they walk through the rain looks and up and asks, "Mother, why do you cry? Do the colors of this clouded night …
His Splitting Heart
Its madness, I quake in fever of your love. But I am stretched like a victim of Renaissance, slowly separated in two halves. Each yearning for something else. A tragic scene I have become, a mad creature of the desolate.
Dragging my halved corpse like a sickly dog by its collar. No strength to hold its own, only whimpers of defeat. I argue as if I am two, looking to my reflection as I am stained in the blood of my heart. I look of famine, my soul, desperate in the tears of love.
While I am lewd in my craving of what is denied of me. Corrupting my own lips upon black roses, straining the world of any color. Creating bleakness to be my romance. Candle light and lonely screams now fill my nights.
It's horror I wish to leave, yet, like an addict to the itch of narcotics; I pleasure in its familiar appeal. Though in the waking moments I plead for comfort. For peace in this delirious heart. For you shadow my mind with every passing thought.