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)
An Act, A Scene, A Love With One Side
A Love With One Side
"May I be as bold to say, I love you?! Or am I fool for placing my heart to the quiver of your soul?
For I know you speak as if your heart is no longer a place for love. I know your tears fall not for me, but for the former, and the lonesome hole that reverberates in reminder of your fragile being."
"Yes, you are fool for such a thing. For I am torn in pieces, scattered among many, devoured in their mouths and never given peace. I am a fool myself, for I dwell well in the former. Cutting my own wings from my back. For I fear, that if I fly, I will collapse under the gravity of another's heart. That I shall never feel myself again, nor the warmth of another. I am better in quarry of the broken, than seeking the blood of love."
"I feel your pain, I hear it as clear as the rain upon my roof. I have listened well and gave tribute in your pain. We have exchanged bodies, even souls. Or, in the least, I have given you mine. Do I not bear what you wish for? For have we not shared laughter from the depths of our hearts? Have we not spoke of our shattered selves as if we speak to ourselves?"
"There is nothing I wish for, but the silence of my heart and the ceasing of my tears. Too many times have I crawled from the crowded lungs of the hopeless, playing a romance in my head. A romance that shall never be. For all I have seen, brings nothing but despair and deceit. Preying upon my feeble ego and my sickly soul. Stringing me along as if I am nothing more than a meal. A meal to suffice the hunger of the body."
"But I seek not your body, but your soul. I have been drawn to you as is a man drawn to a Siren. I would gladly give my head, as does the mantis. In the hopes it would allow me such a love as you. I wish only to bring you hope, faith, and love. To lift you when you are low, and praise you when you are high. I shall sacrifice that which will bring you abundance of what ever you desire."
"You truly are a fool, you would be willing to give yourself up for the mere chance to bath in my love, my presence. I am damned, have you not felt my words that rave from my heart? I am no suitor for any. I am arid of joy, for love and wish no more of its fraudulence. I have given it much of my soul, if not all. To bear it any more would only place me into an oblivion. Never to return and be but a mask of who I am."
"Oh, how I weep for you in such thought. But being the fool that I am, I shall leave now, but shall return when the moon speaks to us both. And we are left in the undesirable need to settle, and I shall pray that my heart will hold out for such a day."
"If that is what your foolish heart tells you, then so be it. But be not broken, or resentful, when my heart feels not for you."
A Summer Bird's Winter Perch I watch this lonely bird chirp upon a slopping branch. Its feet wrapped firmly around the thin finger of bark. As I watch, I commiserate its position. Sitting there, alone, singing with no others to listen. Speaking I assume, to itself. Maybe contemplating its unfortunate circumstance. For the rest had already left for the winter. If I am not mistaken it was only a few days ago that I watched a flurry of birds dart by. Their wings flapping against the brisk wind collectively. Not a single one appeared worried of their journey. Their shadows crawled quickly across the empty streets during a fall evening. I watched them pass by like a feather floating down stream. I couldn't help but wonder, how long must they fly? What winds must they fight, what elements must they battle against? All must be against them as is every moment in time is against us all? Yet they fly forth to the heat of earth. Dependent upon their survival but, what
The Taste of Love, Will It Ever Be Mine? When will I find my lips upon the sweet taste of love? Lost to its scent like the aromal smell of roses upon skin. Will there be an end, beneath an apple tree buried next to my other half? Or will I drown in the soiled pity of my heart as whiskey stains my veins? For I find the misery of myself to be a dull company, but yet its tingles with addiction. And I draw my eyes close to the empty halls of the damned. Screaming for peace but always find myself chocking on pride. Lost in a dense fog I created in the heat of breath upon my frozen heart. Distant am I, in the reaches of tears. For they have no existence in the forefront of my mind, nor heart. Some may call me hollow, lackluster in the dreams of my own thoughts. What is one without the acceptance of tears, without the bravery to step into the engagement of vows? How does one truly go beyond his own vicious habits if there lies no other to call them out? I hear my soul whispe