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)
A Fairy-tale Lasting
A Fairy-tale Lasting
Her lips upon mine, our sultry passion leading me to the catacombs of bliss. Falling through the tendrils of this moment envelops my once shivering bones in a clothed warmth. Heating my core like coals beneath timber.
My soul flourishing to the wild crisp embrace of our skin. Our bodies entwined in a succulence of love. A raging affection seeps from our ribs like the sun dripping from the moon. We collide with such fervor that the stars become jealous.
Their white bodies boil in tones of crimson. The planets weep as they are left desolate to the blankness of space. They are cold, frigid, to the empty void as we align ourselves with such devotion.
We beam with brightness upon the darkest of tombs in the graves of our hearts. Our once dry grooves of existence now flood with phenomenal brilliance. We bloom like wild flowers at upom highest peak breaching through the haze of clouds.
Our fingers lacing like vines, our hearts bursting like fruits crushed beneath our jaws. We ooze with desire, the fondness to make our affection last. To string ourselves from constellation to constellation. Till we are weaved through each galaxy like veins through our flesh.
I collapse beneath her with vulnerability as I present her my soul. Grasping her with firmness between my hands. Her cheeks warm, budding with the glow of a rose. Her breath whisking upon my neck as if summer be her lungs.
As she delights in the masculinity of my grip as I relish her gentle and romantic wonder. Tuning our hearts, our bodies to our obsessive intensity.
Our eyes glaze in a radiance of love. The moon voyeurs through our open chambers but we are shamed not of our connection. Our devotion of our hearts, we are companions, lovers of the forever. A fairy tale come true.
Our pages are written from the blood of our love. Our hearts will race with emotion of our love till we are but brittle bones decaying to the soils of earth. Even then we shall lay side by side in silence as our story rests in the etching our stones.
Let us never grow tired of our presence. Let us venture to wild places beyond our home. Let us be the reflection of what many seek. Let lust never be our want, but change be our path. Let us not speak only of our bodies but of the deeper.
The soul, the mind, the intelligence of both. Let us fall, to the ever deepening of our love.
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