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.
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Seventy Years Of Love
Seventy Years Of Love
Waves collide as laughter echoes through the cold air. Two, walk the shore line as kisses are exchanged in the collection of love. A melody erupts within their hearts, a melody so strong, a thousands symphonies could not match it.
The stars dance along, shining bright in this moment. Hands held together, creating a single point of strength. As bare feet press gently into the sand, leaving behind memories. Washed away the sand becomes barren of any indentations.
But they walk on, with no time to look back. As the night takes them to far away places. Diving deep into eyes, finding the wonders of the soul. Feeling the cool ocean caress their feet. It is perfection in now, everything fits. They sit at the shore as they gaze upon the moon. Swooning in this moment with nothing else upon their minds but eachother.
They turn with romance and embrace. The waves crash upon their bodies, rushing away with just enough force to make them feel as if to be pulled back. Love binds them, this moment binds them. Piano strokes find themselves within their hearts.
They take up stance, pressing their bodies close and begin to dance. They waltz along the shore and look to nothing else but each other. Memories play in a reel as they smile with no regrets of the steps they have taken in each other.
Adventure was once their life, great heights of joy. But now they are two fallen leaves from a tree. Slowly following the wind as it pushes them. Seventy years and not a moment less. Each year better than the next. Though much frustration found itself in the cracks of love.
But no great thing is held by feeble hands, nor built overnight. -----
Thank you for reading, I hope love finds you as it found these two.
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…