Micah Park Biffle

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...

A Lie It hangs sprawled like the carcass of a cow. Gutted, open, silent and vile to an eye unexpected of such things. Nights become filled with terrors in the shadows. It burdeneds the sleep of a soul, its dark hollow eyes follow with a piercing gaze. A gaze that would leave any petrified in its wake. Its cumbersome curdled body lay shouldered upon the soul, draped like loose skin. Its nostrils steadily cherishing the souls anxious aroma. Its lips sewed shut, for it has no voice but the one whom designed it. It lingers with gnawing intent to bring restlessness upon the mind, upon the soul. It never ceases to be, till light is shined upon it. It grows with each passing day, excessive its weight becomes upon the soul. Its repugnant presence expands effortlessly. Slowly choking the genius of the soul. It slumbers in the hidden chambers of the mind. But its rustling against it chains keeps any moment of peace from any expression of the sane. It finds its dwelling in many place...

Mukilteo Beach, WA 2014 In The Tears of The Former I can't be strengthened in one who dwells in tears of the former. For no roots take hold in soils that are ill. No flowers bloom in the bitter tundra of pity. I have lent my heart to those who have found addiction in the forgotten, in the false bliss of yesteryear. And I have felt much pain in the lending of my heart upon their endless pursuit to grasp what is no longer. Like a weight chained to my flesh, they were a burden with each step. No words could conquer their fortified soul, a soul caped in nostalgia. For in the former they deemed those times as the better. But no flower goes without the withering of seasons. The shedding of pedals is always to come. As painful as winter may be, no strength can come of holding to winter. For in the coldness you will find the illusion of depression without the seeking of shelter. For what may have worked in summer, may no work in winter. The tending of new roofs may be needed,...

-I Am But A Broken Heart- It is nothing more than the desire to feel love, to have love. To embrace its lips upon mine only to smile from the savory bliss it gives. But I am a heart, a broken a heart. A heart that has fallen to the emptiness of pain. I am a heart that finds calmness in solitude but aching in idleness.  We are created to love, to pump the extraordinary, to make what is impossible, possible. But I am broken, broken in two indifference's that find strange amusement in the scarring of love. Giving no relief from the reminiscence of the bloodied former. I am but a shell of heart, screaming for the hand of love. But no throat resounds. No hands come to stitch, no voice comes to sooth the rapids of my veins. For all is locked behind the melancholy gate. I bleed like the rushing of rain. I no longer beat the vibrant feel of life, but pump the thick salted tar of sorrow. I am a desolate heart, caged behind hollow ribs, vibrating with echoes of love lost. No longer do ...

It's a cold night, fog covers the ground and headlights glimmer through the dewy mist. She walks the side of the road alone, with her child held tightly. Her body weak, her child cold, with tears of starvation flowing from the eyes. Car's pass by without a second thought. Many pass by with glaring eyes as they approach through the fog. Giving judgment as they see a woman with a child walking in the cold of the morning. Some honk and whistle, yelling out obscenities. The woman does her best to ignore the foul calls of strangers, doing all she can to keep her child warm. These are not the streets any woman should be walking alone. And if they are, it is for the purpose of business, a business of special clientele. As the woman continues to walk down the street a driver see's her as she appears from the fog. The driver slows down, tinted windows, a clean black body, and black rims swallow the car. The driver slows down enough to catch a look at the woman. The woman sees the ...

Nights were far from elated. Arguments were our forte, it was our nightly thing. Like reruns of your least favorite show, playing your least favorite episode over and over. Yea, that was us, every night for three months straight. Either I did something wrong or I didn't do enough. I can still feel the animosity clouding the house. Our arguments haunted the very walls of our home and engraved themselves our foundation. The heat from the arguments you could feel rise from floor just before the first words were shouted. Our home was a nightly battleground and I always left with my head cut from my shoulders.  See, I had been laid off from work for six months. Those six months I stayed home and cared for our child. At first it was great; my wife could work and she did not have to worry about me working late and having to watch our daughter for the rest of the night. Things seemed to fit well together then. But, after about the third month, I started to struggle and she could see t...