Micah Park Biffle

Find me on  Facebook Our Forgotten Books Wall to wall, this room holds memories, not just of me, but of others as well. Its nostalgic perfume brims of good times, of bad times. Alive is this place, as words can mend and words can soar. Brilliance, hidden behind each cover, patiently waiting to be unraveled. To be heard, to be read, to become the thought of another. This place, this dwindling place, where many search only when professors profess academia upon the halls. When grades are met in standard of ones knowledge to paper. But this place, though slowly forgotten. Thrives among many though they be few. Like the stem of dandelion, hundreds spread, upon a single room. In this place, all senses come to life. The aroma of old pages, of new pages, drift in comfort to the mind. The touch of books, of words, silent, blended, rough, smooth. Rippled with wrinkles of excessive lectures, or obsession to discover. Each row, each shelf, holding a billion thoughts, a billion d...

She Wears A Heavy Mask She wears a mask upon her face, she blends to the crowd. Fading like white paint upon a white wall. Alone, inside her head she speaks of wondrous things. Of places that do not exist but in her heart. But dare she speak of such things or shall she be casted from the crowd. Ridiculed for her ridiculous words. She is no fool to the agony of rejection, she knows it well. And in this tormented chest of hers, she finds escape in the lining of her imagination. Crossing lines of great architecture of the mind. Creating whimsical stories that glare with such might.  Alone, in her mind she is the queen, the king, the soldier, the creator. She bears all powers to make what she will. And in this mind of hers, she wears no mask. She is the red rose among a rotten field.  She is the brightest star among the darkest nights. Her eyes twinkle with excitement as she laces her fingers through the lush fields of her heart. Leaving no inch of it unknow...

Empathy Is Our Apocalypse  The world is gone, not a single structure stands as it did before. Sands from far away lands, now rest here as if is to be their home. Cultures of others cleansed in the name of these sands. Deserted like the desert, threads of architecture split from the ground like slivers. Ashes cover the skies, the smell of burning flesh and gun powder enthrall the senses in disgust. Food is scarce, the weather, fickle against the black blind of clouds. It is a carnivorous scene, it looks as if the devil had kissed the earth. Screams from the distance echo through empty city streets. Filling the ears of those alone with much doubt, much horror. Feral beasts feast upon the dead with wild insatiable hunger. No communication but that of face to face and hand delivered letters is all that exists. Flames burn constant from the expulsion of oil from the earth. Families fear death as putrid souls gather in haste to take control. Pillaging the weak, murdering th...

Facebook Some Must Fall To Hell Some must reach the depths of their hell before finding themselves. Before realizing the gift that is life. Some must fill the burning of brimstone beneath their hearts and the piercing of their soul before leaping into the actions of it. Some become so damned in their own skin they feel as if all hope is drained. That hell has consumed all breath and all that lay before them is misery and darkness. But in this vacancy of hope, many find faith. Many find the beaming light that sits atop their mountains of freedom. Looking up with discern but feeling the grace that bleeds from these lights. And in the flowing of misery, they take their first step. They lift their heavy soul and reach just a little further. And though their mountains towering in their presence. A sliver of promise falls into their heart and integrates into its rhythm. A promise of life, a promise that there is more to them than their suffering. That the shadows that follow...

A Man's Traveled Heart My Words Of Christmas The first snow, the bleaching of soil with gentle flakes. The swirling of rich aromas drift in the season of this moment. Music flourishes to the design of today. Memories float like the falling of snow, but sticking like a taste. Forgotten, but only till one comes upon it again. Smiles, cheerful sentiments, the ever sentimental decorating of it all. The thumping of young hearts rushing through homes. Splurging in the imagination of what has been given. As the matured converse in the fond memories of it. Laughing in the taste of spirits, the embracing of today. Chest nuts roast in complimentary trace of eggnog and roast. As laughter dances in the exhaustion of voice. But no memory becomes forgotten in this day. The sun shines in a gentle tone behind the powered sky. The breath of winter settles briskly upon nature as birds chirp in the silence of the cold. Nature, settled in white, brings a whole new life. Caked with thoug...

A Void Of Darkness  I woke drenched in sweat, my eyes wide with fear. I turned to the mirror at the edge of my bed and my eyes were black. Looking as if two pearls had replaced where my eyes once were.  My chest began to feel heavy, it ached, it felt as a knife was prying my heart from my ribs. And I has held my hands to my chest while trying to catch my breath, what was already dark, became darker. My room became a shelter for the deepest shades of black. Not even shadows of my own self could be seen. My blinds became a solid wall, no light found its way into any corners of my room. The door became a black void. I could feel a cold breeze come drifting from it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Goosebumps crowded my skin, and my breath became visible. My mind rushed in this unexplained phenonmenon. Everything about me, was not me, my skin turned pale as snow. I felt as if I was dying, as if something was taking my body. And just as I was about to rush fr...

Want more?! A Man's Traveled Heart A Cheater To The Cheated   This was not supposed be, you were not meant to cry. My greed to boast my status led me to tear you from your soul.  We were not supposed to fall to the spoils of temptations and sewn lips. Never should I have carved your heart from your breasts, as if meat for my hunger. Never should I have allowed such tears to flow from you. Never should I have wiped you off my heart like soiled tissue upon the sole of my shoe.  I knew the damage I would cause, but like a lion to its prey, I cared not for the repercussions of the other.  I felt no shame in the moment, for I had drowned my heart, my soul, in the spirits of man. Keeping all sense of purpose from of us, from ever seeing life. Maybe, we were never designed for the moon, nor the rising sun. You deserved a horizon of beauty, but I gave you a view of death, of the rancid damned.  A view with mountains built of shame, of faithless prid...

Find me on  Twitter The Selfishness Of Man Three heads emerged from the clouds, and as the boy looked up he placed no fear upon his face. He stood with fortitude, ready for what ever may come of this. His blade at hand, his brow covered in sweat. Below him, as he stood on the bridge before these three heads. A great battle lay beneath him, a battle that has raged for thousands of years. Even though this boy stands at the top of clouds, the rumbling of the battle could be heard. It cracked liked thunder beneath his feet, even the pounding of his own heart was drowned by the thunderous fight. And as he stood, looking at these heads that wear great crowns of stone and gold. Their eyes mighty in brilliance as they reflect like gems upon the sun. He yelled out, what he wished for his people, for himself. And for a still moment, the heads stared with no response. The boy clenched tighter around his blade, readying himself for battle. But the heads began to talk. All spoke wi...

Find me on  Twitter You Shall Never See  You have not seen the candle that burns through the night. The wax that melts as it wishes to escape the flames. But no matter, for I will find a new candle and I will set it ablaze. I will close my window, my door, and I will place pages at my hands. I shall strike the pages before me, as does a painter to their canvass. Finding harmony in a single light among the night. Creating blisters upon flesh from endless nights, though fatigue had found me every day. And the wish to fall away from it all, never to wake. You never shall see my tiresome eyes flounder about the lines before me. Finding difficulty in even the creation of a letter. But I do not falter to the exhaustion of my body. For my soul is what drives me, it drives me to the heavens. Beating loud in the night, spreading its wings to soar above the clouds. But you shall never see this, for all this is done behind the walls of my home. Behind the tinkering of my ...

Don't forget to take your soul on a ride A Man's Traveled Heart A Ballerina's Dream Come True  She was told to stop, she was told she would amount to nothing. That she is but a flimsy child withering to her imagination. A foolish heart with only a hand for disappointment.  And these words, these thoughts played like a song on repeat. Only thirteen and the world seemed to rage against her. It felt as if the world had built a wall she was never destined to climb. Even her own friends seemed to join in in the thoughts of her faults. Of creating a gossip of distortion of who this girl was.  Thorns is what this world is she thought, thorns is all it has. The budding of roses is never to be. They are cut the moment they try to spring to the sun. Only to be brought to the ground and trampled upon like dirt. Crushed with every passing moment, soon, to no longer be a rose. But a crumbled dream among the rest of the world.  She found no love in her dream, in...

We Are Beyond Our Flesh  Its as if I am but an extension to my actions. That what I choose and what I do, are truly not mine. I have felt the darkest dark's, and the brightest brightest. I have wallowed in the silence of the damned and laughed among the angels. And in all these strange wanderings, I have come to see that I am not me. That I am not the skin upon my flesh nor the bones that keep me upright. I am more than the eyes that sit inside my head like beads. I am more than the fingers that plunge into the creation of writing. There is much I cannot explain, nor do I wish to. But I feel as if every moment I am awake. There is a force that wishes to pull me. That wishes to see me design, mend, and be. I have dreamt the most vile visions and dreamt of the most beautiful views. But in these dreams I feel as if they are not truly me. That it is not the nerves that spark the thoughts, the visions. But that they are creation beyond my control, beyond what I see. For too ...

Still looking for a Christmas gift? A Man's Traveled Heart She Took No Pity From Cancer  Today, she can smile, she can laugh, she can open her eyes at last. She can feel the sensation of life once again. She can dance to the music she grew up to. She can now smell the brisk air that hovers in the hand of fall. She can enjoy the colors that sweep the earth like a wild brush left with no intent to stop. She can once again feel alive in the presence of herself. No longer does she lay dormant to the aches of sickness. To the loathing pains of remedy, to needle and flesh. No more curling of the gut and the rejection of medicine. She can sit with eyes poured in tears of joy, not misery. No more does death ladle her it in its wings. Grinning with rotted teeth and a tongue of black. No more inhaling the stench of this cold building, of frosted souls that lay only wishing for death. No more does she find herself haunted in the breath of dying. Of withering to the...

Buried In The Pains Of The Broken  Petal by petal the roses fall and she feels as if she is one. As if she is falling to the coldness of winters tongue. Waiting for the world to thaw, so that she may feel once again. The hollowness of her heart is strangely heavy for how numb she is. Gravity seems to be envious, pulling her deeper to the sunken void of her soul. Leaving her feeling as if time wishes her to vanish to the spilling of its sands. But why would these two wish her demise, for she is but burdened with pain? Wilting in tears as her heart has become two. Separating from itself like the crumbling of a cliff, collapsing to the wide mouth of the oceans. Sinking to the buried parts of her mind, to the shadows that scuttle about like insects. Feeding off the dead, she becomes abled to their words. Drifting in a strange haze of coldness. A misted cloud finds her alone, crying in misery. And in the mist, whispers a voice, an empty voice. But in her packed ears of th...

follow me on  Twitter Listen To Your Heart, Or Forever Be Broken    Have you not listened to the whispering of your heart? The ever so graceful voice of your soul. If you have not, I beg of you to listen. To close your eyes in the harmony of each beat that resonates beneath the cage of your chest. For this tiny voice, this ever so rhythmic tone. Misses no moment to speak, no moment to be. It speaks with exquisite lines, with thoughts that bring courage, fortitude, and spiritual wit. It wishes for only a single chance to change everything. To bring flowing waters to the empty canals of your heart, of your flesh. It pulls at your gut with much vigor, in hopes you will sit and listen. But too often do we listen to what we know. The easy, the predictable, the stable, though these may bring no wealth. No wealth of heart, soul, flesh, or of the mind.  But from my words, my hopeful tenacity. I pray you will no longer mask your heart as if it is but a nuisa...

Find more stories like this in, A Man's Traveled Heart tHe iLL WiLL oF SeLF  Brush upon a canvass, creating a brake-less variety of colors. Coating the moments, one feels branchless in the world. Trying to find where to plant thoughts like seeds and become the brightness one needs so gravely.  But what business is left to do when one feels of a walking carcass?  Covering all basis of the damned, feeling breathless, almost brainless in the wandering of life. Ceaseless does one feel when colors do not blend. When thoughts become an eager chorus of claim-less doubts. Skirting the very breath of death, raising a blade in wishing for clearness. But only to feel as if one’s heart has become daftness to even the oldest closeness.  Disconnected in self, darkness becomes so dauntless one feels nameless in self. Puttering on the edges of thoughtless swamps. Drowning in pitiful dimness of the rash and quivering in the coldness of regret. Running from the...

A Simple Letter To My Love  Dear future love, Who ever you may be, I pray for your safe passage. Not only to the finding of my heart, but to the struggles of life. Through all things that wish to bring harm upon you, before, during, and after me. For I know the devil has no place of rest. I will be the utmost spectacle of perfection for you. Even if that means having to watch the sappiest shows and dramas I may find sour to my eyes. I will hold doors open for you, not because you are weak. But because you deserve the graces of a gentleman. I will be but the sunrise when your heart is heavy. I will lift it from the swamps of anguish and condensate upon your heart like dew upon morning grass. Bringing nutrients to the veins of your soul as we hold each other in the tough times, and the simple times. I will laugh when you do something dumb, as I hope you will do to me. As we are humans, and laughter upon stupidity, is the best lesson to see that mistakes are curable....

A Man's Traveled Heart Lust Is But A Vampire At a late night ball, on the highest mountain top, upon a small range of cascades. There was a woman, a woman of fantasmic beauty. She donned such charm, that it seemed to hypnotize those around her, like mindless insects to light. She wore a red dress, with hair of the darkest ebony tone. Her eyes were silhouetted in a haze of purple. Her skin, as pale as a shinning moon, her lips, decorated in blood red. Her perfume had a spice only men could understand. A scent, that left their hearts racing like a poor chap for heroin. Though, this ball filled the chambers of the hosts home. Not a single soul knew who she was. But upon her presence all those who laid eyes upon her froze. Not a single infliction of emotion spurred from their faces. They stared in awe of her beauty in an almost thoughtless pursuit. As if she was a god walking among men. Even the women embraced her sight, but not in the fiendish way of men. Those men, wh...

An Average Man, For The Extraordinary  An average man striving for an extraordinary life.  All he wants is to leave behind the mundane struggles one has in the pains of life. To not have to look over his shoulder from the stresses of bills. Never having to worry if his transportation will get him to his destination. Never having to listen to the sounds of his engine as if death could be bearing down upon it.  The simplistic troubles of life add to a heavy burden. Turning one from a smile, to a drudging frown through the thickets of hell. This man, is only looking to be extraordinary in his mind, to find himself becoming to his world. To be free of the ill thoughts of struggle. Feeling taut between the choice to push further, or fall to that which presses back.  Falling back to the ways of forgetting all things great. To consume the spirits of man and drink silly, till all burdens seem lost. Thinking this though, is not what he wants. He wants to b...

Falling Short of Potential  This can't be , this can't be the will of world?  This monotonous toil of anxiety crippling my senses, like a broken nail bent by a hammer. Leaving me useless to the uses of life and dreams that swell within me. I have fallen once again to the reaches of a slumberous soul. To a plateau of misery and now taste the spit of depression as I coerce myself to swallow. I fight with envy to be free of these tiresome emotions. But these mono toned voices wish nothing but my desolation of life. To only breathe for the simple pleasure of breath. They find my misery to be joyful, I am a frenzy of pain to be feasted upon by my own mind. I am a creature of the dark and prefer the warmth of its emptiness, like that of a fungus. I reach to the light, but in reaching, my anxious tongue rips me from the edge. And I fall, I fall in ruin, to a chasm of strain. Where no mouth is open for speaking, where lips are sewn with stitches like one would find upon...

Don't forget a copy of my book A Man's Traveled Heart Thoughts Will Bring Pain  Tap tap, do you hear that? The tapping of thoughts, the eagerness for them to flow. To break the walls from your broken heart and become full. To escape the meddling of their existence.  Stifled in their exuberance for far too long. They wish to be heard, to be felt, to be open to the world that some wish never to breathe.  But that I say, is because those are the ones, who contract their dreams to size of their nails. To listen with anxious appeal, never to dig them from the ground. To leave them behind the walls of fear. Only to have them tickle the senses of life, from time to time. To have them whisper like frightened children from the torment of monsters beneath their bed.  Thoughts bring much joy and much pain, but one who traps them like foul rodents. Will never find them to be joyous. They will only pout with black tongues and tears of tar. Sticking to a na...

This Emerald Glow Has An Empty Soul  I look in the mirror and no longer do I see the eyes of emerald glow. I see, a shriveled mass of flesh and bone. Pathetically portraying what I once was. Now, all that lays before me is a desolate shell, a hollow canvass that echoes like the ocean. But I amass no creatures within, no creations to be found. I have withered in my possession of self. I have become complacent in my doings and derailed myself from action. I have crashed upon an empty shore, only to stare in desperation that a wind will carry me home. But I am no fool, I know no wind will carry my feet or will lift my wings. I have consciously forsaken my path in pursuit of ill pastime. I am far from the words I speak, I have skipped the beats of my heart. And now listen to the dull voices in my head. Sloth, has overcome my willingness to be. I have ruptured the beautiful landscape that was before me. And I have left it, in a pollution of stagnate thought.  These f...