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.
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 narrative so vicious, the sound of rats gnawing in hunger upon flesh will seem pleasing to one. A narrative so ugly, they will live it as if it is their breath. Believing each thought as if it will bring new birth. But only to be dragged like the decaying damned to hell. To cut them from the freedoms of free will. Leaving them fruitful in lies and vile to truth.
They smell wretched to the soul as they linger in the haste to cut the dangling of thought, that taps, taps, taps on top of their noggin.
If you hear the tap, tap, tapping of thought. Do not close the shutters, the doors, and the windows. Listen with curiosity, but not with blindness in attempt to listen. For each thought can bring truth, but others bring truth from lies, lies that breaks one honest breath. That shatter, and leave one drifting to the waves of the sleazy, the immoral.
Creating a miserable abandoned facade of ones self. Perverting the senses of thought, acting as if one is worthless. That the world is nefarious, filthy, and impure in living. That judgement in collection is righteous. That others are the bringers of pain, oppression, and the damned.
But be not one whom locks away thoughts and listens in blindness for the temptation of blame, of pity, and pain. Be one that opens the flood gates with ship at hand, holding the helm with bravery and starch.
Be free in the action of thought, but we wise in which thoughts to bring action to.
Do you give the right thoughts attention? What is something you tell yourself that you know you shouldn't? Let me know in the comments, maybe some one can help you find a way through it.
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…
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.