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)
This earth is no placed to be fixed, no place to be at a single
point. Ah, the wonders that lie ahead. A nomad must a heart be. To truly
embrace the eclectic sanctuary that is the ever expanding universe. Spinning us
around and around a hundreds of times a year. Creating a connection to
something that could boil us an instant if we drew too close. Frightful is this
and if caught in a sudden stop, we would fling from the comfort of our grounds
and we would burn like the stars.
This danger excites the heart.
It pierces the simplicity of boredom when one finds the utmost danger in the
utmost simplistic scenarios. And from those minut thoughts of tickling fear of
adrenaline, blossoms knew growth for adventure. Seeking the ends of each cliff,
only to leap and find yourself soaring among the clouds.
For today, breath could be
taken away. A poison could scatter among the air, snuffing out the beauty that
is nature. Consummating death to all, cutting burdens of many spoiled hearts of
their easy issues. No more would you hear frustration over the forgotten items
at the store. No more would the echoes of pity spill into the delicate ears of
the soul. No more would tunneled eyes of anger find home among broken
Silence would lay upon the
earth as does a feather upon a bird. Fluttering to the whims of what it cannot
control, but being a part of something so bold. But that is not what is, at
least not in the present of what is now. For now, I spring my heart to the
outlandish, to the unknown. I frolic in the winters for something hidden,
something spectacular beneath all the frost.
Finding grace in even the most
dead and dull blades of grass. The overwhelming sense of comfort as I can walk
back to the confines of my home and feel cold no more. What blessings we have
created with such magnificent minds.
The ever-tantalizing voyage of
thought never even caresses the end of it all. Incomprehensible is the thought
of the end. Even in the sudden death of a loved one, many act still as if time
swoons them with lemniscate of life. Leading them to loiter in the agony and
bleed their soul to what is gone. Bringing resentment to self, to life. Drawing
dark eyes into their now empty home. Preying among the soft whispers that tell
them to move on.
much have we created, and I wish to taste it all. To become fervor in the ideas
of the simple, to allow myself to build the most complex thoughts. Designing
beyond reality, at least what cannot be reality of today. What sadness finds me
when lips form apathy in the daily.
habits that go no further than what was yesterday. Cold does a soul become of
such acts, madness will
find the mind. And not the madness that transcends one to
the mountains of the heavens. But madness that leads one to become the idle hands of the devil.
Lacerating the heart of even a page of hope. Brewing up sores that cause pain
even in the waking of the eyes.
earth is no excuse to be dissatisfied, for many even in the most ill of life's.
Find more excitement, than a
man upon a golden crown.
Thank you for reading, want more inspiring and soul riding words like this?
The Moles Never Learn 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 tr
I Had Forgotten Red smoke plumes in the air. A brilliant, yet daunting sky of clouded crimson thickens the sky in sheets of billowed cotton. It rises with no sense to stop. The atmosphere frightens, yet heightens the senses with a strange tingle of pleasure. We are losing our homes to the natural order. Yet I am not taken by tears, but by an odd joy of entertainment. For too long have I adhered myself to these pieces of physical wealth. Yes, through struggle, persistence and consistent efforts I have dawned myself with such rewards. But for too long now, I have forgotten the path I had been taken. I had forgotten the many beads of sweat I spewed from the exhaustion to gain such things. I had forgotten the lonely misery I had fought. I forgotten the friends that lifted me, the moments that tore me down only to bring me higher. I had forgotten the delicacy of a flower. The aromas of nature the beauty within myself and the beauty so naturally displayed around me. So m
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 a