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.
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? Playing upon the good and bad…
The Scar of War And His Suicide To Escape It
He returned with a heavy heart. With a fierce storm raging in rain, thunder, and dark clouds. Memories of war collided beneath his chest. His lost brothers he could feel in the very bones of his soul. Nothing felt the same in this place he called home.
No words could describe the surmountable anguish that tore each second at his mind, creating a vast chasm. Loneliness slowly consumed him. Leaving him branded as a mental case, coming unhinged to reality. Drowning in the constant flavor of hops. Leaving no moment to be sober. Covering the storm with another, that if the fog became to thick to see, then his pain did not exist.
Flooded with anxiety of what he left behind in the chaos of war. He could not escape the nagging of all the thoughts he prayed to forget. Tarnished he felt, guilty, burdened, he felt far from a hero. Though each friend, each member of his family embraced him as one.
And on each night of his return, he sat at that foot o…
A Moment In the Middle East
A scorching sun canvasses the grounds. Flesh becomes its victim, sweat pours with no end. As if envious in seeking air. Eyes watchful of the distant, heads on a swivel. Hearts race in anticipation, crowds walk as adrenaline pumps.
The smell of gun powder stifles the nose. Tight grips upon steel, chambered brass. Sands flood the lungs, faces smeared in exhaustion. Thirst grips the throat, thoughts of home fumble the mind. Focus, focus, focus.
Distant shots, a setting sun, strange beauty comes to life. Barren lands seeping in anger, pointless in attempt to save. Lost, young, raged in empty hours of this land. Brothers shoulder to shoulder, but for what?
The eyes become useless as night arises from its chambers. Stars shower the blackened sky, the moon flaunts its elegance. Eerie becomes the view, shadows dancing between street lights and stars. Wind gusts with a warm kiss.
Now hues of green become the view. Skewed in perception but eyes trained in this moment…