Micah Park Biffle

A Brass Heart   I reach for a pendant that hangs from my mirror. A pendant of her, a permanent photo of perfection gently placed in a small brass heart. I take it from the mirror and I open it, I carefully pinch the sides and the heart splits.  It opens to the vivid smile of what is gone. Today is the anniversary of her death, another day of grief. This heart, this photo is all I have left. As I look to it, I suppress the urge of tears. For I know she would wish me to keep going.  To grieve in the action of moving on. Of finding new memories to be created with someone else. But how does one move on from someone so close?  How does someone find another to take the place of someone you held so dear? Someone that could never be fully replaced. How do you not feel guilty as time ticks on and you hold the hand of a new love?  You know that is what they wanted, but how do you not let such thoughts sabotage the new things that come your way?  How d...

A Murdered Love  I started my morning as I always have. I woke up, smashed the dismiss button on my alarm and rose from my bed. I tossed my blankets from my body and turned myself so me feet could fall freely to the ground.  I gave out a yawn of exhaustion, as I rubbed my eyes to clear my sense of early morning confusion and slight resentment of waking before the sun. I then stood off my bed and turned around to tidy its rambled mess. Making sure my bed is in order so I am not in disgust of a disheveled bed after the end of my work.  Having my bed in order gives me pride in my rest, it shows I care enough about where I lay my head. After making my bed I walked over to where my towels hang and wrapped one around my waist. I then opened my door with half opened eyes and silent thoughts.  I walked over to the bathroom, closed the door, hung my towel and started the shower. After about fifteen seconds, I jumped in the shower. While in the shower I looked thro...

A Land of Memory  As the river seeps to the ocean I feel my soul expand to the glossing waves of summer. Crashing against the once broken shore of my heart. But now my sands vibrate with excitement, attracting the risk of the unknown.  Blossoming with arms wide open to catch the unforeseen as do shores reeling in debris. I follow with my eyes to heed to the beauty of my thoughts. Never catering fully to the echoes that call from the ever ebbing waves.  The lodge that sits at the edge of the woods once swelled with painful misery. My heart was torn from my ribs at the hand of my love. I quelled my misery in the delight of vices as I fought to forget her lips, her soul.  Our feet used to press together into these sands as we waltzed with smiles and eyes fixated to each others glistening horizons. Every flower reminded me of her beauty, of her elegance. Just as flowers sway to the touch of wind, so did her hair.  Such aroma do flowers give, but their ...

What Love is There?  What love is there to be had, if not yours? For I find no other more glorious than you. I have spoke with the moon, it too sides with my heart. It knows my sorrow of longing. Yes, I have spoke with the sun as well. But only does it laugh, for it says the moon sighs with any sorrow. For it knows only the bleak and lonely. Even the stars find my adoring affection for you to be a distant chance.  Fading as does their light through the eons of darkness.  Can we not ignite what I fantasize to be soulfully sublime? For even the skewed brow that sits upon your head, I find beautiful. Your laugh, though you find it obnoxious, I find it contagious. It lifts my heart as does heat in the cold lips of winter. Your intensity to produce success drives me with admiration. You lace each moment that we are together, with enchantments. You spell bind my soul with each look, I am drawn to you like madness to the ill. You are a remedy to m...

His Splitting Heart  Its madness, I quake in fever of your love. But I am stretched like a victim of Renaissance, slowly separated in two halves. Each yearning for something else. A tragic scene I have become, a mad creature of the desolate. Dragging my halved corpse like a sickly dog by its collar. No strength to hold its own, only whimpers of defeat. I argue as if I am two, looking to my reflection as I am stained in the blood of my heart. I look of famine, my soul, desperate in the tears of love. While I am lewd in my craving of what is denied of me. Corrupting my own lips upon black roses, straining the world of any color. Creating bleakness to be my romance. Candle light and lonely screams now fill my nights. It's horror I wish to leave, yet, like an addict to the itch of narcotics; I pleasure in its familiar appeal. Though in the waking moments I plead for comfort. For peace in this delirious heart. For you shadow my mind with every passing thought. You are a sc...

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 Psychosis Love  A psychosis of the heart, feeling what is not there. Seeing what is more but illusions of ghostly figures. A past that has been torn from the chapters like poison in the flesh. Blending the abstract to feel of reality. Though beautiful in thought, art is but the savvy of the heart; and the mind enriches such abstractions. Mixing with the intent to stay in the familiar, though pain may follow. A gorgeous crescendo only to bleed out unto the soul and flood it with no hope of breath. Not even an ark can save one from such a destructible pair. Leading one to be sheep, in their own acceptance of their naive choice. Hurdles of misery are so simple, as one knows the outcome for each. So they race to each only to fall; never taking up practice to leap. For fear of what lies to the other side is more frightful than the repetition of a mangled heart. So they become but a heart of the catatonic; rigid in suffering. They stare idle into what they know they...

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. ...

A Murdered Love of War Three hundred and sixty-five days since she held him in her arms. Her whole body swept up in anxious fright and joy. She thinks to herself, "Will he remember me? Will he still love me?" She throws on her best dress and lipstick; looks herself in the mirror and says, " I am gonna go the hair salon and strike myself the hair of an angel!" Still looking herself in the mirror she twirls around with a large smile, "Oh my, I can feel my heart beating against my chest." She smiles and lets out a small giggle. She stops twirling and slides her hands down her sides, over her hips to make sure the dress forms perfectly to her body. She then places a hat upon her head to hide her wild hair before it is touched by her stylist Mary. She quickly steps over to her closet, picks up her red heels and she rushes out her room and down the stairs. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and places on her heels. While struggling to keep her ...

You Don't Die Today It's morbid, this existence, well, at least it can be. Moving forward at a snails pace, hoping for a by product of such motion. But you begin to feel still, as if a wall stands before you. You push, and push, and push; but with one more push you break free. You find yourself running so fast it feels as if nothing can stop you. Then again, you are taken by a sudden arrest. You fall to a grave of despair, leading to the undertaking of climbing. Grabbing hold of the loose soil only to gain no foot. Your mind weary, your heart stale. You see wraiths obscure the light from above. Their looking down, smiling, you reach for them. They say no words, but you know, you know their eyes deceive you. But they place down their hands as if to aid.  All you plead for is escape; but you are the breeder of these phantoms, these ghouls. Still, you reach for them. Upon the taking of your hand; pulling you from the grave. They already conspired to treat you to the...