Micah Park Biffle

A Pocket Flower   I breathe upon the cold morning glass as I look out into the open plains of the country. And with my finger I draw a heart splitting in two, it quickly fades. I look back out into the world and design a new one.   I let my senses roam wild as imagination rushes from my head like water. Flooding my view with bountiful ideas. I see titans clashing, gods fighting, I see mysteries lingering in the lonely mist. I see monsters creeping from the distant moons and music flow gently from the darkened woods.   I watch golden leaves fall as the sun begins to rise. The soft tone of frozen grass begins to sparkle. I see birds thrust from their nests and chirp to the vast outreaches of nature. I am overwhelmed by what I see, and I smile.   I breathe again upon the cold morning glass. But this time, I draw a single heart held together. I let it fade as the last, but this time I breathe upon the glass once more. I observe the heart I drew with much thou...

Whiskey on the Rocks    This whiskey, how graceful you fall, how gently you warm my heart. Delicate in aroma, stiff in taste. But how delightful. You coat my lingering pain so well, as if marriage be in order. Anguish and whiskey, till death do we part.   I embrace you with my drunken hand. Shaking, quivering to the somber melodies of my lonely soul. What beauty you bring from my aching heart. Bringing forth copious thoughts that pour from a broken spout.   I taste you in all things I relate to your amber color, your wooden flavors. The sunset, it brings me to want you, to taste you as if you are the melting vision before me. A genius you create as the snow falls softly upon the ground.   I freeze in my appearance as I look through my window. Admiring the scenery of the cold dreary winter. But I see myself, my dazed eyes, the dark circles that hug my drunken face. Looking, I can't help but weep, oh how I thought you numbed me. How I thought you snuff...

Dismal be The Headless  It is dismal, this place. The walls have degraded with each passing day. I no longer feel it is my home. I feel my own skin wishing to retreat from my bones. I am alone in the empty space I call home. Settled with spiders, roaches, and more.  The floors are covered in the dreary existence of debt, of soul, heart, and wealth. I don't know, but I pray someone may come and help. But I am poorly suited for company. The least I can do is dust off this shelf.  Be presentable in at least a moment. For a moment I can hold it together. Keeps myself from fluttering away like a feather lost in wind. There must be a way I can step up and win. This place is riddled in filth.  I now walk on stilts. In fear of touching my own ground. Beneath this miserable pile of sludge, underneath it all, is my crown. But I gave it up long ago, I turned over my crown to the day I let myself down.  I could feel myself drown. As I flailed for my crown. Out...

 The Endeavors shall Reward  Its is easy to fall behind, to let things get away from you. One minute you are ahead and the next, things come crashing down. Now you are in a rubble of stress and trying to compile everything to where you can at least start to organize.   Then, when you start to organize, you realize you have missed a few more things. You fall behind  even more. Anxiety starts to manipulate your thoughts into wild distortions. You now feel even more stressed, for a moment you thought you were almost back in order.   But a wolf came by, while you were busy rebuilding your barnyard only to find that sheep missing from your herd. You find the blood, but no victims. You now panic, as you have lost a piece of your resources. You feel the world around you constrict like a rope tightening around your throat.   The clouds above turn grey, it begins to rain. You become seemingly uncomfortable. You want to break down, to fall apart and l...

A New Kid A New Challenge  This is the sixth house in past two years. Things are always changing and my roots are never settled. I am young, so much of my world is based around my friends. It's difficult at this point to even want to make friends.  I remain in this constant status of hovering, of always keeping my roots just above ground. I allow them to hold to the top of the soil. Just enough to keep me sustained during the cold nights alone. This allows me to never completely settle upon any one place, allowing me to detach in a moments notice. I make friends, but I don't get too close. It's hard sometimes not too, you find some great friends and you want to become best friends, but you know you could be moving at any time. Some places, unfortunately never allow me to make friends. I show up as the new kid and am instantly placed as an outcast. Some schools are harsher than others, I realize this now. But it is challenging to always be the new kid, to always ...

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 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....

We Used To Laugh and Be We used to have an imagination. We would string thoughts of great expansion from one moment to the next. Weaving webs of adventure to be hung between each day. Picking them at just right the moment, when they are the ripest and our hearts were the purist. Finding smiles in each step, even in the gloom of winters hold. Even the rain was welcoming in the design of thought. Never did we doubt our hearts, if pirates were the thought of the day so be it. Or an adventure to seek out the deadliest enemy and vanquish him, we did it. We once lived, acted upon our thoughts to the fullest. Conquering lands beyond our eyes and creating with our hands. Whether our designs worked or not, we moved on, like beasts through a tundra. Seeking the next place to create. We were once outstretched with branches of hope, of thought, and laughter. Branching out to the highest clouds, breaking through from the densest soils that earth can bear. Never letting anything slow us ...

Do You Feel Me Changing  I am falling, can you feel that? The cold and awkward feel of being transformed. I am drifting into something I can't explain. I am feeling a void of myself, I am feeling, of something else. Voices plague the fractures of my mind. Courting a temptress of lies, trying to walk me down a path of exposed wounds. Cattled are my scars, grouped in the abandoned stairwell of my heart. I am suffocated by this unwanted extension of myself. The pain, at which has no name. Strange echoes speak in the distance as I wake. Alive I feel, but am I something else, someone else? I hear them, I now speak with them. Before, it was just me, alone inside my head. Now I am clustered with many. Formed in the malpractice of my own mind, but not at my hand. Confused, yet I believe, I constrict my thoughts to their wishes. Most of those whom I know, are now mere shadows of my life. Family has become a fleeting picture. Arguments collide in the halls of my home. Tears ...

Unsustainable Victims  From place to place: path to path, home to home, forest to forest we roamed. No true land to call home, but home was with each other, no matter where we were. Stopping down dark paths in the night, setting camp, playing music beneath the studded stars of the sky.  We were a family of many and a family of the unconventional. Never weighed by the grasp of the civility of society. We were always on the out, on the edge, standing, watching; tempted. At least, I was tempted.  My family never stayed in one spot too long. Never embedded in society, created us not to be welcomed in an abrupt fashion. Either pushed from land by owners, park enforcement, the law, or even animals. My family lived in the wild of the earth.  I must say, in the honesty of it all, we were not the best of people. I was taught to steal, to trick, to lie, so that we may put food on our tables. We were great at hunting, but it is difficult to feed a caravan of hundred...

Lift Yourself From Drowning  Sometimes, our world can become heavy. It can feel as if stones are chained to our ankles as we desperately struggle to swim to the surface. Our lungs become shallow, our breaths automated by stress, by fear. Repetition of hours click by like droplets of water as they fall upon our heads. We look to time, only to see four more hours of rigorous monotony left, before we are allowed the breaching of only our nose to the surface. Ending days in the cries of tears or in the silence of melancholy. Feeling dull, as if a forgotten antique taken by dust. Worthy of only a glimpse as we feel ourselves to be no more worth than what we receive after two weeks. We collapse to the mundane, to the emptiness and shroud ourselves in temporary bliss. Coating our hearts in drinks, screens, and other pleasures of flesh. Only to wake in a shroud of numb echoes of bitterness, as the hours tick by before we must plunge our nose back to the depth of the ocean. Hold...

Our Understanding is Lacking  As I look out into the dreary streets of this city beneath the over hang of an abandoned market; while watching strangers pass by. I think to myself how strange it is, how amazing, how humbling it is. To realize that each person passing by, young or old. Each has a story, each has a perspective, each has suffering, struggles, and joy. Each living in the known and the unknown. These city streets, though I dread their congested momentum and their consent need to be connected in everything. I have a sympathy for it all, for us, I have no pity, but I have great sympathy. For we all have our paths, our heartaches, our lessons, our failures. Some of us start off worse than others, some are born in poverty and know the dreadful aching of hunger. Of worrying if food will be available today. While others, may be born of great wealth, knowing not the pains of hunger or shelter. But knowing  the lack of love, of affection from themselves and othe...

Unopened Letters  He struck up a match and lit the candle that sat upon his desk. Upon the candles embrace of the flame he blew out the match and watched the smoke fade. His face shifted in the dancing light, one might say it skewed the truth. He then looked around his small cottage and began to check the doors and windows; ensuring they are sealed shut. His walk is slightly subdued by his lame leg. Injured from an harrowing event; but he dares speak of it. He prefers the ever echoing silence of the memory. Never giving more than a glimpse to others to ignore his disabled leg. After checking his very limited perimeter he walks over to his fire place. He leans over a small pile of logs as he adjusts his leg to adhere to his desired posture. He then grabs a log in one hand and chucks it into the middle of the fire place. He then reaches for another and another, he then alters their position. Allowing them to be more feasible to the igniting of flames. Once the logs are s...

The Shadows We Breed  My skin crawls, shriveling toward my anxious thoughts. My eyes oscillate in attempt to scour the darkness for hope. But there is no light, only the black breath of my falling thoughts. A cloud emerges from the tail of my tongue. I can hear the scurrying of rats in the pitch of darkness as I begin to cower to the corner. Hungry are they, and I a meal for the ages. I curl up in the fetal, shivering like a lonesome child. Afraid, abandoned by the warmth of love. Everything is desecrated, what is left, but to allow devastation and I to be consumed by that which lurks in this unholy of rooms? This dark cloud swarms my throat and I feel nothing but the bitter cold, like the first kiss of winter, after it has conquered the last field of crops; and I, that field. As I quiver in this empty room, I cannot see the shadows that form from my breath. But I can hear them as if they are my own voice, vivid are they. They speak with malice, trickling with lips of l...

A Darkly Romance She wanted a love that was tried and true, but the script read to her. Was a script of broken strings and bloody hearts. A vigorous sculpting of ruins, a burning village of sorrow. Her tears could never suffice in the suffocation of flames. For a pheromone crown of misery plagued the lining of her thoughts. Her soul, never blissfully cradled in the lips of serenity. Her head upon her pillow was the closest to peace she would ever get. She wore scars upon her flesh from the empty and greatly articulated voices of shadows. Tasting her embroiled dictation of self. Which lacked any palpable succulence of flavor. She was beauty lost in chaos, taken up by the unhealthy and wild madness of despair. Painting pictures of rejection upon her dark encrusted walls. Scarred in the screams of what would never be heard. Her pride consulting her in thought as the ego laid waste to any hope. An unkempt heart bled her of countless devotions. Her lips sewn by her own hands a...

A Distant Heart I do not know the callings of connection. Linking one heart to the next, only bruises. I know not the beauty that strings from the correlation of common affection; blood or not. I am strangely distant in my taking of such things. Arms length is my comfort, it is the distance I allow my heart. Even then, I am cautious to contemplate the display of it. Even in the ideal of family I pose a gap between each member. Most would seem that I am reposed in my position of such a thing. Friends, and dare I say family; see me as welcoming and open. But I steer between the fine lines of loving and caring. I skate the outer lines of it all, keeping my hands to my back and heart to my chest. No need, nor the want of my pulse to pump from sleeve. For there, any can see its pattern and carefully concoct a scheme to poison. To place me beneath a spell and travel with little discretion. I fear I was born with an unpleasant amount of empathy, even my enemy I care deeply for. ...

Our Self-Loathing  Why do we do what we know will harm us? What is the joy of placing ourselves in agony? We so often play the victim of our heads. Stretching our days as far as we can; just to avoid the waking of the morning. To avoid the repercussions of our lousy ruling. But it is inevitable, that upon our waking, we shall regret last minute slumber. Too afraid to sacrifice the ails of our own doings for the gratification of the instant; of things that only consume us to decay. To not let go of what brings us meager comfort. Bringing atrophy, not only to the body, but to the mind. Till we are but walking ruins of disgust, that not even ourselves find joy in company. We elect food that rots our teeth over foods that bring us strength. We become sheep to our weakened ego and desire that which it favors. Feasting till our bowels become irritated with the digestion of the simplistic. As we watch our guts expand like the rapacious pig; ending each day in the misery of o...

The Flavor of War A roaring crowd of excitement and love. The return of fathers, sons, and brothers. Relief is the scent of the heart in this beating moment. At least, that is what it seems to be; but returning from the horrors of war, many are broken, but unaware. Shadows drag behind closed eyes as they speak with loquacious tongues. Creating seamless memories to haunt with vivid realities. Tones of hell creep from the guilt that putrefies the soul. Rotting it with inflamed shame. Coating the mind in endless darkness as pale eyes gaze with memory. Calling out the shadows that be the ghosts of battle. Flashes of heat engulf the body at rest; waking in an alert of anxious recollection of what one hopes to omit with the passing of time. But hell knows of no such passing. It embodies itself in the pasture of mind and body. Entangling with depraved taste for madness. Boiling the mind in copious memoirs of terror; the actions of man. Blood curdling from lungs, limbs severed from...

The Flesh of A City  The sun gleams against the busy horizon of the city heights. Thousands bustle between the individual goal of now. Gathering thoughts of conversation to the sinking whims of the mind. Flowing with the concrete streams and broken seams. So many, yet so distant; a world pressed tightly in a plexus of man. Creating a pliant mind as flesh is the desire. Looking for that nepenthe escape; dull the sense of agony. Placing hearts on material and material on spirit. A wafting stench of empty souls walk with jaws hung open. Exhaling with vaped response of its temple. Longing for the existential of more than late night smiles and tasteful drinks. But competition of the vain; grips with an ingenious web in the city lights and crowded streets. Perplexing the eyes with the mesmerizing style of wealth. Capturing the young in the excitement of halogen strands of reds and pinks. Caressing the naive skin of youth in temptation of lust. All things of man flood with i...

The Dusted Years  The fields went bare, the oceans calm and the air thick with dust. Crops were buried in the depth of earths cough. It appeared as if death had showered its breath upon the once marvelous existence of man. Hunger struck the every belly that walked the lonely paths. Hands that sewed the fields now cry out into the dusted air. Faces ragged of despair and fear, depression sulked the very heart of everything. Men struggled to provide, women lost touch in the nurturing. The world flipped upside. As if the gods were in the mood to shake the earth in the curiosity of experiment. Laughter was little, frowns were in heavy supply and pain was given for free. Children clung to the neck of each breath; as any form of sustenance was only convenient to those in the embrace of bureaucracy. Or those that salvaged their future before it ever arrived. The teething need to survive sprung a leak in the bowels of crime. Many came crawling to its rising stench. Seeing the...