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)
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
But what business is left to do when one feels of a walking
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 shadows that one has created in conscious toils of constant census of
a callus witness.
What does one do when crudeness of thought is all that
blazes the fields of hope? Burning in endless doubt, craving the dreamless arid
deadness that is misery. Sucking on the fruitless attempts to find what will
draw only fringe-less hope. Because something is better than nothing, than
becoming headless among the living. Suffocating in the helpless cries till one
becomes too sore to open their eyes.
Building dull justice in the capturing of torment upon self.
Bleeding dry from lawless dribble one sets out to cast blame to others. Leaving
one thinking they roam free in the likeness of all. Creating limbless thoughts
crying wolf from the luscious lips of suffering.
Creating oldness in what is young, acting naive in the wills
of self. As if no thought, no flesh, no temptation is the fault of self.
Becoming drawl in the production of self, but acting as if one is of better
status with thankless lips. Connecting of false tries of stringless words as
stiffness of faith draws one tearless of one’s own exodus.
What does one have left in the dubious loss of insanity in
the fallacious calls of pitiful lustfulness?
How does one rescue thyself in the malicious attacks upon
Thank you for reading, have you ever let yourself become chaotic in ill thought of self?
The Blameful Two The world broke as their hearts bled the shadows of their misery. Seeping upon the world, flooding with the scars of agony. Their eyes trembling beneath the moonlight as their blood stained hands shimmer. Their lips sewn as each is caught in a lie. Both bare, exposed to their duality. Their curtains drawn thus unmasks the bodies they have slain. The skeletons of truth dragged through the spoils of deceit. Each, unwilling to speak. Their cheeks flush in rose petals. Their skin taut to the anxiety of their arrest. They are now the victims of themselves and each the other. Two hell's preached in the underbelly of their weakness. The fraudulent thought in avoidance of pain. And now they stand as nude as the beginning of life, Adam and Eve. Shaking, they are without words. Silent, bearing only tears that fall to the blood soaked floors. The dark whirlpools of hypocrisy. Neither is without sin and neither is without murder. Their souls weep dearly as they riot to esca…
I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt.
As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it.
I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing.
My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation.
I am comfortably wrapped for a day trip, but the su…
The aroma of tea tickles the air as I wake with the embrace of a morning sun. Stepping out of my bed tossing my sheets from their grasp. I make my way to the view from my window. The soft touch of snow had settled upon the grounds in the silent wisp of the night.
It's a spectacle to behold. A pleasure for the eye as the dim barren ground beneath it is no more. But I can't help but think of him. I can't help but remember his virile touch. How it gives me such comfort, such protection. His smile of ivory and his scent that raises me with elation.
Our time spent apart has been difficult but, he is living his dream, his sought after passion and how dare I ever be one to wish him to fray from it. All for the sake of my own need of him. We are both creatures that have clung to our dreams with great vigor.
Neither has left the side of our hearts and we are each formidable in our arenas. We shall never back down though many nights are cold, alone. Many days ar…