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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Lies Blew up Our Planet
Lies Blew up Our Planet
I watched as it all erupted like clay tossed against stone. Piece by piece, the world was flung into the far reaches of space. My capsule was one of the last to have launched. I was only eight at the time. But I will never forget the feeling. Though I was young to the world and had a very short time; of even a morsel of what the world truly was.
It felt as if a part of me had been ripped from my chest. I can still remember the colors that world presented us. It was a bold array of showered hues. Even in the most harsh of environments you could find something to awe the eyes and heart.
All those shows on TV that explored the world and brought it to our living rooms was astounding. So much to be seen and so little time to enjoy it. Sadly, my time was much shorter than many thanks to ever greedy needs of those who wished us no ability to advance.
We were sunk back to almost the 21st century.
I remember all the commercials and news that would speak poorly of our existence, rather than find solutions. They thought us better off, than with the planet. Even at my young age I found it odd that there were those who wished us dead. To just hand the world over to the creatures that are spoken of as things of pure innocence.
It became a world comprised of endless need to please that which can give nothing back to us. To please things that give no more care for their own than us. It was disgusting times and now, they are even worse or, rather the same.
I remember as I watched the world explode into a million shards from our capsule window from five hundred miles away as my mother pulled me from the winodow, she said, "Don't look dear, we did not deserve it in the first place."
Right there, in that moment, what she said, drew a strange thought in my head. One I could not comprehend at the time. But now I can, "We should give the world to those creatures that can bring no change, but now we care not that the world is gone and those creatures with it?"
It was an instant one-eighty, I realized that a majority of the people from that world, were more concerned about appearances of their thoughts than their words, their actions.
As the capsule flew further and further away and as my mother pulled me further from the window. I cried, but I cried silently. For there were things I would never experience nor understand about how we got where we are now.
For much of the information that could have saved our world. Was lost in a flood, a flood we had known was coming for a month. But again, the need for appearances over truth was more important. I can't begin to explain what I am learning now.
I work at the prison now on our new planet. I guard the most "ruthless" people the world had ever known. People that grew up on our planet before it blew up. We call them, "The Interference." When I first started working here, I had great resentment toward these people.
We were told they were the reason we fell behind, that they were the reason we are where we are now. That their hate drove us to our own extinction from the planet. But every time I asked exactly what they did, I was quickly pelted with singular words and vague answers.
But the longer I work here, the more I learn about what truly happened. Each of these prisoners has a story, some even have files hidden in their chambers. How they got them there, I do not know? I am just a new guy still. Only six months in and we only get new recruits once a year, that's if there is room for new recruits.
But as I dig deeper and deeper into how we are formed now. The more I see our move from the gorgeous world that we had before. To this massive dismal, barely habitable planet. I see it was an endless game of fraudulent exploitation of the worlds own people and of those that truly wanted to help.
It was a finite game of lies which still continues, and death is the penalty for exposing any lies of ruling.
If we do leave our planet, where do you think we will end up and why?
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…