Micah Park Biffle

These Marshes Bring no Peace  I thought I was safe here, far from everyone and everything I know. I am alone, I cast myself from the horrid reaches of memories. Crowded between marshes and rivers, a place only I know of. Yet, here I am, shrouded in stress, in misery.  But I have all things I need. I have my home, food, water, and shelter. I have peace, I have the silence of the night so that I may think. Yet, I am still haunted, haunted by visions of what was. Mistakes streak my dreams like a filth covered window of neglect.  I hear voices of former loves whisper in the soft silence of nature. The frogs belch of memories, calling out names, out agony. The crickets, rubbing their legs together spread shadows of doubt upon myself during the humid heat of the night.  I have no mirrors in my home. Why? For I feel a reflection of myself will only drag me back to what I miss. I dare not even look to the waters of the marsh except in the night. For there is not ...

A False Allegation "Take her to Mount Halden and lock her up, she is not to see the light of day ever again!" Rork slams the gate to the prisoner's carriage and steps away. He tosses the key to the supporting guard command. "Now off you go! Get her out of my sight." Rork turns away and spits out a stem from something he was chewing on. His over bearing stature brings fear into the surrounding guards. They respond in quick haste to his words. The commander of the guards places the key in his satchel and says, "Alright men, you heard him, lets get a move on. It is going to be three days till we reach the top. Lets waste no time." The commander then reaches back into his satchel and removes a flower. A dark red flower with specks of black on the petals. He takes the flower and begins to chew on it for a moment before spitting out the stem. "Don't forget your Wizards Bloom, it'll help you stay awake." The commander s...

The Perfect Beauty   She is perfect, built from the gods and birthed from the pearl of Poseidon. She is everything any man any god would want, would crave. Upon her birth she already stands among the gods as something extraordinary.  Her locks of red hair sway like flowers to ever soothing currents of the sea. Her skin, like the white pearl of the womb she broke from. Her face, perfectly spaced from great admiration of her father, no mistake was given.  She walks the earth in perfection. Each step she takes, beautiful flowers bloom, birds sing, and the world stares in awe. She resembles what all Beings of any life wish to be. Never silent, she always finds reason to speak.  If she be not speaking, you can find her singing. She walks the many cities of the world with absolute confidence. But as time progresses she still holds no hand for marriage. Yet, she continues to stride herself with grace and perfection.  Every city displays a statue of he...

 The Blue Wolves Are Coming  Tonight I write from my friends chambers in haste. The dogs are barking and the whistles are blowing. The fog has settled densely upon the streets, allowing me temporary escape. It will only be a few moments before I am ravaged by the jaws of canines or thrown to the ground and shackled for the remainder of my life.  I am part of a secret society, some call us "resistors," we merely call our self free people. We are freethinkers, we have been watching the world degrade into a child's toy. Adults no longer observe their emotions and take thought. Rather, they act now with a stasis of belligerent obsession of identity.  Calloused to logic they bore tunnels of fantasy building lies that suit their tongues. Blaming their surroundings for their harsh reality. They bring no responsibility to their character, but force the world to shift as they do.  Many of us now clothed in the color of red, to signify they are workers of pri...

My Field of Withering Roses   It has grown dim, everything is turning to shades of bland hues. Absence of color shrouds my thinking. My eyes no longer see the beauty that once cascaded my vision. I am alone, walking quietly through a field of withering roses.  The sky is white, the ground is dark. My own flesh is toned with color of stones. I feel heavy, restless as I feel myself sink to the desperate empty calls of my heart.  I thought by now, I would transcend past my stresses, my anxiety. I thought, I would be the one to bear the answers to the broken, to the bitter of my friends, my family.  But, I am still but a ghost in the halls of time. Ticking away slowly as I pride myself in my work but see no return for hope. Seeing no light to shine upon the freedom of my constant tension of mind. Straining my heart with burdens I am falling.  Tripping over the slow pace of change. I preach often of patience but my steps are becoming greatly demand...

The Forgotten Many, 1865  We are often forgotten, many of us forced from the memories of our loved ones and the ever spinning earth. We were once breathing fathers and sons but now we lay silent beneath the soils. Quietly whispering through the trees, the brush, and all oceans of our coasts.  Caressing the hearts of those that walk among us. Silent we may be, but as a whole, we are never truly forgotten. Merely, we lack importance to many as time spans further. We become pictures with faces but no names. We become a corpse marked in an endless counting.  Our families become new, losing their roots as they forget or misplace us in their hearts. We stood face to face with our brothers and called them our enemies. Sons died by their fathers and fathers by their fathers.  Hell found home among our wicked needs. Curating a slow brew of chaos to swell our flesh. We became cross eyed to the vision of our lands. Many fought with no wish to be, while others fought...

We Prepare Ourselves   We prepare ourselves in the rising sun or the sinking moon. We wake either in preparation of sadness or joy. Allowing the flakes of our agony to be our weather or the light of our hearts be our path. We prepare ourselves as we see ourselves.  Creating visions of rotting flesh or growing bones of strength. We sink or we rise with each waking morning. Sparking our day to begin, whether it be in the shadows of our pain or in the smile of our joy. We prepare ourselves with how we think.  We battle with instinct, to shrivel or fight. Allow burdens to be our predators or our prey. Shedding our fur to lighten our load, or hold dear to the dreary cold. We are what we design in the thrills of our being.  Lecture with care for the mind follows well. Seeking shelter from any enemy, even ourselves. We must learn to prepare for ourselves. We are quick addicts to pain but slow to happiness, to gratitude. For it is easier to crumble under pre...

Painted A Blue Heart I painted a heart today, a heart to remember you by. A blue heart, why blue? I am not exactly sure, maybe to show the sadness I have. Or to remember all the cold winter nights we shared by the fire. A bitter sweet case of love. I glazed the edges in a shallow blue, a light hue. Why, I am not sure? Maybe to remember the more delicate times we had, where we shared tears yet happiness ensued. As I drew this heart, I thought of the warmth it brought, though it be blue. But are there not flames of blue? Color is a mere abstract of feelings, often I find what others find sad, happy. That is why I painted this heart blue, at least that's what I think. After the shallow blue, I drug the far edges of the canvass in pure blackness. I created a shroud of darkness to encase the far edges of what I painted. Why? Maybe to reinforce my belief that you are still out there somewhere, living where we could not. That what is at the center of all this sorrow, can expan...

A Man Productive Man A constant teething of stress always bides my heart. As rigid thoughts of insufficiency crowd my mind. I become strung out like an animal hide to the high sun. Dehydrated of peace, of any serenity if I ever had any. I am a coastline of desolation as I always fear I have not done enough. Sopped in the downpour of sadness as I feel no closer to my accomplishments with every passing day. I am tough to my very second of each hour, of each minute. I may smile as I pass by, but guilt throngs my heart. Like a room two sizes too small for a hundred souls. Shoulder to shoulder my guilt aligns with my happiness, my serenity. Slowly pressing it out as I wake each morning. Becoming of victim of my own thoughts. Pressing myself to do better, but even when I do, it does not feel to be enough. I could write a million words a day and still feel insufficient in my endeavors. Rarely will you catch me not thinking of my next step, my next word, my next story. I create ne...

A Forgiving Son "Do this, do that, be this, be that, why are you such a failure?" These were the words of his father every day. Drunk off his depression, his anger his dad led a life of secluded suffering. His son, the blunt of that pain. No reason for such animosity but the boys father was a reckless, unstable, emotional pinball.  His breath foul from drinks daily. His disability check from an injury from a public vehicle crashing into him, paid enough to cover the bills, feed himself, and buy drinks. His son gathered what ever left overs he could find.  Or he would scroung through the neighboring trash cans. The boy was kind, sweet, he never raised his voice to anyone, except himself. On some nights, his father would lay into the boy with verbal accusations and character attacks.  Other nights, his father would be too drunk to really speak so the boy would be victim to physical abuse. Slaps across the head ending with the slurring words of, "Why ...

Our Last Waltz   The rain falls with heavy purpose. It spatters from the windows, the ground, the walls, bursting like petals from a flower. They fall till they are caught by the impeding end of solid foundation. Becoming still, to eventually be taken back by the embraces of the sky.  Only to fall once again. Living the perpetual life of anxiety as they wait for their doomed decent to a crashing end. But as they fall, there is beauty in each droplet, they do not fall without purpose. They bring nourishment to trees, to plants, to us.   They fall and wash away the filth that clutters the lives of what we cannot see. They are translucent in their appearance, but are felt like any other creation nature births. They cool the skin on a summers day or sting the flesh upon a bitter evening. Yet, they fall with elegance and bring us a gift with each crashing fall.  I think this, as I waltz with my wife one last time. Tonight, she is my droplet of...

My Life At the Edge   My life's on edge, a vertical swing. I see the stars from which I cling, staring to the ground and wonder how it will feel, when I fall, I'm sure it will sting. All the while my heart sits at edge, slipping, I sing. Allowing a fantasy to be, pretending there is nothing that is aching.  My bones creak as the shadows creep. Coldness flows upon each step and I shiver as I weep. I have yet to feel clean, no matter the wash, I wish to glow. Always asking, why me, why the sudden stop of what made me happy? I bend with twists and turns as life is what ever it will be.  I turned my tongue from complaints, to high aim. Adding new strings to my instrument as my soul sits in its sling. Pondering a new place to live, to breathe, to be. But there is no escaping, breaching what leaves us both babbling at the edge.  No more terrible aiding of sour lips. No more firing from the hips, yet here I am blocked by what ever is behind this mist. I mis...

Ascending Memories  We ascended with our feet upon the ground. Gathering up our thoughts like broken sticks, placing them in our bags to tell of later. We were silent as we climbed, hand in hand, silence at heart. Wearing red to signify the blood of our fallen hearts.  Our eyes reflected of the dark, as the rain poured with misery as we coated our hearts black. Ivory keys of woeful tunes played as we tried to piece ourselves together. We ascended higher and higher, but the terrain only became worse.  Vines bared thorns as roses of translucent petals hung like fingers of relaxed limbs. A few times our flesh came torn by the prick of thorns. The roses took to our blood, and what was once translucent became red.  Once our altitude was beyond the view of earth, the clouds became thick. Dense like the waters of the ocean. The beat of our blackened hearts grew louder through the density of these dreary clouds. We clasped our hands together, as not to lose one ...

The Restoration of an (Outgoing) Introvert It's not that I don't want to see you, it's that I can't. I can't do this anymore, I am exhausted. Every waking hour, it is them, you, us, him, her, this that. A barrage of active minds in world I find wonderful but grow tired of. I am not dulled by your presence or any others. I am rather, drained, as one might be after excreting themselves in exercise. I need time to present my heart, my mind, with silence. With myself and myself alone. Allow me to play my instruments without an audience. Without the subtle hints that you want to do something else. Let me be quiet for moments to come and let time fade between the bones of my flesh. Trickling through like atoms of earth. I need to bring nourishment from the quiet waning of stillness. No motion, but the beating of my heart. No sound, but the calming of my thoughts. I love....you, all of you as I did yesterday, but today, today I am spent of vitality. I am rece...

An Island Proposal   We were on an island for vacation, we had been together for four years. It was the perfect day the perfect evening. The day was and will always be one of the best days of my life. I remember, I reserved us a private table out on the very exclusive area of the resort. The water would flow up and hug the shore just a few feet from us. A cool breeze between the glossy night heat would kiss our faces. Everything was perfect, except for my mind. All day I was in a constant hold of anxiety, nervous to the core, desperately shaking inside. I ran the scenarios of what was going to happen and what I was going to say a million times. At moments we would be talking and I would lose track of what she was saying. I was so busy concentrating on that night. More than a few times she got frustrated with my lack of responsiveness to her questions. I did my best to steer us from falling into rocky waters. Which each time I thought we would surely fall and ...

A Cancer is No End  I'm cuffed, tied to reality. I am held to a strict limit of ability, today, that limit has been reached. Though I have no say in what happens next, I will not have idle hands nor an idle heart. I will be the stone from which you can stand on. Allowing a solid foundation, for I want you not to fall to the misery that has come forward. This tragedy is not the end, unless you wish it do be. Much more is to come, but only if you fight, if we fight. If we take in our breathes as if they are our last and charge. Taking aim at life and allowing the growing of flowers. Creating a theme of faith and turning it to reality. Bringing forth good fortune to the mind and casting our the filth that wishes to cloud you. I can only image the fear that is tempted your heart now. Crooked like branches from a wild tree. Springing from the belly of doubt as they rise from your soul. Slowly constricting your hope. But this will not be, for we will prune, cut, severe, era...

A River Bed of Clarity  What is the point he thought, as he tossed another stone into the river? An edged anxiety trickles at his throat. His hair skewed from his late night thoughts, rest is no longer part of his appetite. He reeks of anguish and sorrow, his eyes pulled by the gravity of loneliness.  He decides to sit upon the river bank, clasping his hands to his knees. A slight rocking of his body takes hold of him as his heart quivers. A subtle fog creeps from the woods across the way. He watches it unfold from the base of the trees, it falls to the body of water.  He looks at it with a familiar feeling, he starts to think aloud, "Alone, like this fog, drifting to the cold banks of water, escaping the foot of darkness, finding open space so that I may drift up toward the sky and disappear. This, this is how I feel, I am sinking and hoping for something to lift me."  He pauses the motion of his body, picks up another rock and tosses it into the river....

A Beast Among the Flames  Lighting strikes the open plains setting the dry grass ablaze. Fires start to rise from the hill tops in the distance like signals. I can feel the heat from the flames that blaze only yards from me. The sweet scent of wet grass resonates against the smell of burning earth. Smoke melds with the dark clouds above, forming a fondness for each other. I can feel my chest rising with heavy breaths as I prepare my mind. This is either the end or a start to another day. Kneeling on one knee I press myself up and stand. I look around me as the world before me looks as if hell is bursting from earth. In the chaos I find serenity, for I am built for this, trained for this. I finished my indulgence of my surroundings and pull my sword from the ground. I raise it with my right hand pulling it near my chest. The point of my blade stands five inches above my head. I close my eyes and start to rhythmically pound the armor of my chest with my other hand. Th...