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
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."
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…