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.
Subscribe to this blog
Follow by Email
A Story of Me, Dare I Say
A Story of Me, Dare I Say
I buried my heart years before I
knew what life meant, before I ever took a moment to explore the kingdom that
is within me.
Before the coming of age, I fell
to the preaches of the popular and the cool. I listened to unsightly words become
labels of me, such as,“stupid” on needless occasions, as students looked on and
the teacher pointed. I fell prey to the voices that cluttered my existence of
who I was, and what I was meant for.
As time passed I struggled with
the savoring of poison, numbing my thoughts and the voices that crept. Feeding the urge to make it all go away with the joys of pills and the rare
occasion of coke drowned with whiskey and false laughter that came with it.
Only to end each night with quivering misery and spiteful hate toward myself.
With misery building her home
inside me, I left myself locked behind walls with tears sunken in a well, never
to be released. Skirting the thoughts that would leave not only my heart buried
but my flesh.I had demons clawing at the walls
of my mind, coming to fruition in my dreams, leaving me restless like the
ticking of a clock. Always going never stopping. Anxiety swept the air like
foul stench of rot. I found myself insatiably tasting the sour flavors of pity.
Waiting for a hand to pull me from this hell I so maliciously adored.
I thought there was nothing to
save me, that this is all I had. Yet, there was a something in me, a voice, a
voice I believe that had always been there, call it God, the universe, call it
what you may. But it found its way through the empty echoes of my shadows.
could hear it, constant, like a soft breeze to my ear, whispering for me to
create, to spill ink upon paper, to venture into myself. And when all felt that
all would collapse on me as I emptied a bottle down the dry walls of my throat,
tearful eyes clouded my sight and I found myself writing an entire book. It was
a release from all the pain and sorrow I had held inside for far too long.
Keeping it locked away like the denial of dreadful disease. I had finally found
what had always been yearning in me.
Writing broke down the walls I had built so
high and gave me a view of myself so beautiful, my heart wept along with my
soul.I now have the ability to dig up
my heart and place it in its proper home.
So now I say to you, if your
heart is buried, find that tool, that will help you dig it up. For something in
you is yearning to come to creation of life.
I believe their is a talent in all of us, have you found yours?
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 it breath settles upon the mirror. Now, with breath upon mirror, I watch, as it fades almost instantly. As if disdained upon my presence. Only to leave an almost translucent outline upon the glass.
And again, my thoughts wonder 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 naturality can create such perfection mixed with such disaster. Playing upon the good and bad like…
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…