Micah Park Biffle

 A Romance of The Broken  I love you, Those three words, a massacre did they bring. My heart strung in agony for the world to see. To watch me bleed with boiling agony that not even I could contain. And with no sympathy, you packed your instrument of love, never to play by my side again.  I became an abandoned piano in the dust of your empty heart. And your lips turned sour with the mere thought of my yearning for your soul. A distant hand did you become as you vanished the recesses of my mind. Still, I gave you a place in my heart, though yours was a chamber of murder for mine.  I could not leave what I prayed would spark a new. That in the hour of midnight you would call to me. Not for the longing of an ear. But for the blooming desire of love, for something beyond what had been planted.  But with each passing night, I became but a mere poet of lonely stanzas. Not even the rays of the sun brought me hope. I grew dreary in the confines of my place of design. R

A Death For Pleasure A man, torn from his life as if he were a rat infesting the dinning of a king. Captured, thrown to the beasts for entertainment. His family, lost to fields of wheat and the unfortunate greed of men. Surrounded, his heart bears no resemblance of who he was.  Stained in the blood of strangers, survival is a must. Cheers are the only constant in his life, the uproar of crowds. Sweat brows his eyes as sun basks in thickened heat. His throat dry, but his soul beats, though weak in the bared living he has now.  He must not kneel to the fear before him. For he is still a warrior of his breath, giving no solace to his enemies. Though they wish to reap the same award, a life of freedom. A severed head rolls from a mighty swing of steel.  The air cut with a whistling of blades. The rumbling of the crowd silents the struggles of the men pitted in desperation to live. Men with seething teeth of gambling stand in intensity, as they begin to second guess their

There is pain in us all, feel it, express it, grow from it A Man's Traveled Heart The Loathing Of A Monday Its Monday, I pull my sheets from my body with lethargic disappointment. My eyes gradually sinking to the floor to see the hurdled mess I must overcome. My throat dry, my mind in a groggy haze of sleep. And as I slide my feet to the floor the cool care nibbles at my skin. I express my discomfort of the morning with a sigh of resentment. Pressing myself off my bed I stand with a slight slouch of the back. I start to walk, and as I walk I let my eyes tirelessly follow the smudges and scrapes that flourish the wooden floor. It is still somewhat dark in the house. I mind it not as it keeps me in a state of dreamlike existence. As if I have yet to face the reality that is today. But as I enter the bathroom, I am forced to light the torch, instantly I regret its intense glow. Flickering shadows of my tired frame, my silhouette looking of a ghastly ghoul. After resisting

Click here for more my book A Man's Traveled Heart Curtains Of Deceit  The curtains rose and music played. The crowd swelled with anticipation and stood in a quick fever of applause. The scene before them was magical;  masks, magicians, singers, and dancers, packed the stage with such enchantment. It was a spectacle of such marvel, flames and lights waltzed with such brilliance. The mashing of such mystical performance could almost be tasted. It had a sense of living, as if what was being watched was more than what was being seen. Like a droplet of illusion had been placed upon the tongue. The breeze of phenomenon occupied the eyes of the audience. Not a single moment of dissatisfaction tainted their posture, they were enthralled beyond the absolute. Cheers roared, tears poured with pure elation of satisfaction to the wonder before them. Some, even joined in the dances from the seats of their view. Holding hands, minding no tale of deceit from any they danced beside.

Find me on  Twitter A Freedom Taken By Lies It is his third town in the past six months. He does his best to keep his heart from home, to not let his nostalgia for memories cloud his judgment. His clothes riddled in filth as he has no funds, no place to rest. From time to time he finds himself a welcomed soul to allow him a stay in hotel. But much of his time is spent in alleys and strangely cemeteries. As he finds the dark somber setting to be a delight to his ears. As no smells of rancid decay wafts about his nose, nor the shouting of drunks and whores scour his ears. He knows himself, he must be belted in grotesque aromas. Smells that would leave any man chocked in his presence. But by  now, he has become accustomed to his position of stench and life. Six months, six months have come and gone. He wanders with aimless direction but passes through each day with a smile. Though his stomach is in constant agony of nourished substance. He finds no reason to treat his existence

A Corruption Of Wealth  And as your ivory tower grows like twisted weeds from hardened grounds, you become distant. Your tongue holds disdain for the world below. The clouds barely cling to the walls of your tower. You hold an outrageous, pretentious, and noxious view of what walks at the foot of the earth. Your teeth have become stained in hollow truths, growing your wealth like the greed of a vile king. Filling your belly beside the utmost corrupt. Placing yourself as if you are god, billions you pour into your designs as you place a false crown upon your head. Plotting with devious intentions to will thpeople to your whim. Daunting becomes your fantasy of life, your appetite, insatiable.  You laugh as the feeble ones underneath plead for a better existence. But you lack any sympathy, you have crowded your soul in power, in riches. And so many are blind as you steer the powers that be. For you hide well behind your treasures of your horrid opulence. For few know of you,

A King, Greed and Ego A man of highest praise was he. His kingdom filled with gold and every pleasure his mind could ever conceive. And with these riches came his finger of greed, his ego along side it. Greed and ego became great friends, they fed off each other like addiction. Always wanting more, in the constant need of a fix. Conquer many lands did he. And as his kingdom grew, so did his greed, his ego. He was the best dressed, the best spoken, educated, and best looking. But he never left the confines of his kingdom, and his father before him, allowed no mirrors. One might find this odd, but not his father. For his father became in his own reflection, as does this king, the son. After conquering the last kingdom that was approachable by land. The king decided it was safe for him to pasture out into the world. He had his soldiers guide him to the first kingdom he conquered. And along the way he made sure to boast about his achievements to all he passed. Every village f

To Replenish With Words As I write each story, I feel a part of me captured within each line. I feel a sense of freedom for my soul, for my life. No longer held to the wills of my pain, holding to the miserable existence of my misery. I find a new path with each story, though they may never be more than words to others. They are a new seed for me to plant. And like any farmer would tell you, you plant more seeds than will grow. Keep planting seeds, eventually you will get crops. But at the cost of time, of work, and discipline. Nothing of strength, of lasting taste, is ever created in the burning of one candle. Much patience is equated to each growing moment for the seeds I plant. Hundreds, maybe even thousands will be planted before I see my words become something more. Become something other than a rain drop for my seeds. But rain for others seeds, words for others souls. A place where one can come rest their weary eyes and find themselves embedded into what pours from me,

Darling, Love Again Darling cry no more, for he deserves no tears of yours. Though agony may have found place in your heart, the wonders of love still await you. A man of loyalty, of constant faith awaits your hand. Be still, be patient, but while you wait. Become consumed in your existence. Find where you belong within, search no storms outside of yourself. Cry if you must, but cry to grow, swing in the branches of life. Be gentle to your soul, but become not the most agreeable in the room. Be steady in the awaking of your heart. For many waves shall wish to drown you, be not worried for shore. For much food swims beneath you, be skillful in the survival of your desires. Cease not the reaching of your goals and settle in fear of the spinning hands. There is no wrong in wishing for love, for living for what binds us. For what creates a growing earth. And though upon your journey, your streets may be empty. Hugged in barren trees and a somber haze, carry on. For there is mag

A Dependence  You watched me, pleased with your affects. You brought only misery to the void of my heart. Displacing my thoughts in the hands of suffering. I became your puppet, strung out on your command like an abused child beneath the voice of its father. You concluded with no reason. Abandoned I became even further, you clambered in with precise madness. Growing chaos with each seething tooth at which bled me. You found pleasure in my own forsaken wings. Drowned me in your purest from you did. Battered I became, left with no will, left with no reason to transpire. But to be your empty devotee,  I ached for you.  Gladly, I tarnished my soul to burrow withing your existence. A womb is what I felt, but a false one were you. Teething at my broken heart, you knew, in my insecure and decrepit state, I could be owned. I could be yours till nothing was left but my complete inane desolation. And in the delight of such an accomplishment, you shall find another. Piercing th

Want more?  YouTube A Letter Of Love I call to you my love, from the highest tower from the highest point. Not even the moon is out of my reach. My heart swells with love for you, to feel your lips against my lonely soul. To perch ourselves in the dead of night among the stars. To gasp at the sight of your body and behold what lies within. To savor you like ripe fruit, freshly plucked in detailed accord upon a summer breeze. To taste you in the bitter fall, to dance with you by a blazing flame beneath the falling snow. I wish us to gaze into empty blue skies, to lay with fingers laced, whispering our affections.  To beseech your heart beneath the wings of cupid. To sheathe your finger in the forever. To birth what ever desires you may yearn for. To hold you to the sun and let you sip upon its warmth as we guide ourselves through this wilderness of love.  I pray for us to never go without the thought of the other. Even through the waves of anger, to grow fonder fr

Verses In Solitude A verse is nothing more than a verse, when shaded from skies. What intention one gives it is no matter if he, the care taker of the verse allows no planting of such verses he has written. If a poet is to shelter his dominion what is the existence of his words? If not nothing more than a string of letters crumbled together in a symmetrical and orderly fashion. Are words meaningful if not shared with the wallowing eyes of others? Are they heard, like the tree that fell in the woods? Even if one is to write for himself and himself alone, in the confines of his chambers, do the words truly heal? Or is it upon the rationing of these words to others that bring meaning, that bring healing? For, if no other is present to see a poets transformation from his dull living space, to something of the utmost prestigious growth one can have from words. Has he truly grown, or is he still who he was before his thoughtful verses? For if no other sees him, from what he once

Our Many Ghosts  A puff of smoke billowed from beneath the door, it flowed with the iridescent lighting that subtly pierced the cracks of the door. My eyes locked to this privy moment. As the smoke rose, an eerie presence approached the air before me. I could feel my skin wishing to curl up from my bones. But something kept me moving forward, I could not deny the thrill this moment was giving me. And as I advanced my steps in a quiet methodical manner, I saw shadows cutting off what little light escaped framing of the entrance before me. The closer I got, a strong scent coiled up my nose. It smelled of sour milk, iron, and burning hair. My throat curdled with the instinct to reject such a smell. So I covered my nose with my shirt, even then, I could smell the aroma. But it was almost palpable between the scent of my cologne and my own scent. But still, I gagged slightly with each approaching second. The closer I got, the thicker the smoke became. Its almost, as if it knew

The Worship Of Idols  And as the moon rises your eyes become elated in the verses of others. You scour the pages before you, in addiction to escape your tedious life. Finding pills of dopamine behind each moment spent idolizing the breath of others. Knowing every detail of the wealthy, the famous, and degenerates of reality. Combing their bodies with your thoughts. Wishing to mimic their demeanor, their exact presence, only to find no solace behind close eyes. And as you drift to the deepness of deceitful fantasies, you swallow the lies you tell yourself. Bleeding the selfish blame of what surrounds you. Calling out for an answer as you question with a frothing mouth of pity, "Why does this immense burden of haze snuff the flames of my once blazing soul? Why am I forsaken, but they are dealt in Abundance? " Be ware, for the whole story is never told. You hold no gratitude for the breath that fills your lungs. You walk with no humble opinions, you scrap your ton

Capture The Fading and Lose the Moment Capture this moment, not in a frame but in the heart. Let it live like a subtle kiss upon the head. Be gentle in the holding of it. Cherish it, embellish it's existence upon its rising memory. For only once will this happen, only once will this moment be. Time has slipped, there is no going back. There is no sand to hold in your frail hands. Though you may be strong, death is seeping into your veins with each breath. And their is no cure, for life is hard on all, for we all are victims of an end, of time. Hold tight to the traditions between friends, between love. For they are but a symbol for what was once something fresh. Bringing harmony to the passing of time. Creating a well of healthful memories. Do not fret in the loss of passing time. As long as you abide by the desires within, taking action far from the temptations of the instant. You shall find yourself expanded beyond the stars. Ecstasy will entrench your body. F

Present your soul with a gift A Man's Traveled Heart The Victim Of Sheep In an instant it was gone, all of it. The wolf had sank its teeth into what breath was left. And I, helpless to the scene before me. I watched in horror as the sound of flesh was pierced by pearled teeth, eyes glaring from darkness. All was taken, all was forsaken. My heart became ill but I could set no motion into existence. For it was not I whom became the victim of the sheep. I was not the one whom'd screamed for freedom but lived in feign. Acting to be a scarecrow of sorrow, left alone in the fields of misery. For I pulled myself from the withering corn and led myself to the open grains of wheat. And as blood gushed from paling flesh, it spilled in rhythm from the mouth of the wolf. And the teeth held strong, as the sheep squirmed with little resistance. But no panic came from me, for some fall victim to their own annihilation. Following the trail of paralyzed. Listening too closely to their

Abused But Not Hopeless Three children and alone, abused in the last torment of what she thought was the opportunity of blooming lilies. Hoping to string them across her neck in the display of artistry between her and the love she had for her relationship. But quickly were the flowers trampled on beneath her mans lack of self-esteem. Bridging his hate for himself upon her and her children. And oh did he show it well, his hatred for himself. Sly in his words but weak in his actions. Raising his hand not only to her, but to the children. Leaving bruises, welts, eyes that would bring one to shiver upon seeing such brutality. His ever so false chivalry would play well after the fact. Creating his sorrow to be theirs, reaching for forgiveness but with horns. Hiding his scars, creating the children to be a burden to his wealth and his mental well-being. Nights would pass and not a single plate of food would be served. For she had no job, and his tongue would speak ugly to her own

Check me out on  Twitter Become The Kingdom You Seek Beat, beat, beat, let your heart rage. Let your blood rush through like a howling flood. Let no dam be formed in the veins of your flesh, for much is set for you to gain. You are a spore of your dreams, cease not to the flames of hell. Let no demon cling to the reaches of your eyes. Be still in the ever wavering oceans. Crash upon your shore, conquer the sickness that wishes to devour the dwellings of your soul. Raise your shield against the dragons, defend against their flaming breath. Your blades purpose is their heart. Rush them in the midst of their exhausted flames. Peel back their scales, drive your blade through their dense ribs, puncture their blackened hearts. Let their impure blood seep from their bowls and die to the oxygen of life. Signal your smoke, let your army rise upon the imprints of your steps. See the horizon before you become your kingdom. Goad the growth of your needs and give in the prosperity of your s

The Death Of The Impolite Ardinal, Upon his arrival places his bags by the concierge desk. His eyes scanning the hotel with an utmost pretentious glare. Seeking deficiencies in the hotels composition, snarling under his breath at the most minuscule defects. A mere bulb is out in the chandelier that hangs with a magnificent purity of architecture. It hangs between the stairs of the hotel that leads upstairs as if open arms. His chest puffing in an appalling position. His hand tapping at his chin in command to find what else could be wrong in this place. He sniffs the air as if smelling a rose. Upon the ingestion of air, he smells a slight pungent smell, a smell of old cigarette smoke mixed with the now sweet scent of melon. Instantly he flares his nostrils in disgust. Covering his mouth, he makes a slight posture as if to upchuck in his throat. He turns his head back to the front desk and places his hand over the calling bell. He begins to vigorously press the palm of his han

Facebook A Spineless Beast  You spineless beast, you coward. Bleeding your words from behind curtains of lies. Traveling with baggage that burden you, much uneasy to each train you ride. But much could whisked away to the emptiness and never spoken of again. But you dribble your tasteless tongue with pity. Covering your lips in dark plaster, a substance you created. Drawing upon whomever will listen, whomever will coddle you with showers of pity. Filth ridden are you, disgust is what you paint. But you care not, you are an addiction in yourself, in your own false righteous pleas. Cawing like a crow upon a thin branch. Scouring for trash, for any sustenance that be ill to your gut. So that you may roll in complaints and become a creature of suffering. Aching in the sight of others, echoing in your oh so terrible existence. Appealing to those who pour with empathy, who's pores live for the seeping of helping others, though those they help may be treacherous in action. Y