Micah Park Biffle

 Severed Filament    We were something or so I wish to say. But I know we were but a momentary filament. A connection quickly severed by timing. An unwilling heart to expose itself sat shivering beneath my chest. I swallowed every ounce of fear as if an antidote for disease.   Shortly lived were we. Our light dimmed by insecurities. Our hearts never to spark a lasting light. Doomed from the start. I fumbled the bulb and upon my ribs it broke. Shattering to the bleak hallows of my thoughts. A swamp seeping with pity as if sadness will attract is an attraction for love.   What heart desires the weak? What heart desires the glum of a lonely soul? None, and those that stand preaching they do. Are merely looking for pity to fix that which lies within their own skin. But deny the remedy to heal.    Their hearts always given to another, never to please themselves. They walk with eyes lethargic to beauty. Clambering to fill a void with more sadness...

 A Wanderer  Guitar in hand and nowhere to go. This dusty road is barren and the sun is high. My body aches to rest but I am a wanderer of my music. I am in search of my muse, the siren that will call me. Leading me to my death, but not before exposing me bare to the wonders that hide within me.   My feet are sore, my boots are wearing thin. My beard is holding this dusty air and my throat is parched. It has been three days and I know not which way I should walk. Each path has appeared similar, dark, dusty, and desolate.   There have been no signs, no lights to signal a turn, a stop, or a cautious disposition. What have I done? Am I but another poor musician taken to the madness of his music? Never to find the glory that will give breath, life to my words, my songs?   Wait, what is that, that in the distance, between the waving waves of heat and the gritty plumes of dust? I see a light, a beaming light of red  in the distance. It is faint, but ...

A Whole Heart     How do you find the courage to be loved again? To be open to the risk of pain and torment? How does one become whole again in the adventure of love? What must be done to no longer be at the limits of your walls? What must I do?  I think this as I sit alone, picking at the pieces of my heart. Placing them upon a table, motionless. Pieces of something that used to flourish, prosper beneath the gentle cool of the stars. Carefully I prod and poke with the edge of a blade. Investigating the scars, the creases, the cracks. Every inch of every piece.   Hoping to find an answer, a missing link. A remedy of a broken heart. But all I can find are wounds, scabs that have churned grey and blood that ceases to pour. A crust like the earth has settled upon my ventricles. Clotting any chance of breath. My heart is merely a representation of what was.   A sad ensemble of horrific cuts. A collage of regrets covered in the misery of rejection...

Persaveve and A Storm  The ocean has become unforgiving. Its rage has expanded to the skies. The winds rush, clouds of murky black pour with rain. Waves rise with mighty violence, even creatures of the ocean are being thrust from the bowels of the ocean. Everything is wrapped in the chaos of nature. No shore is in sight, no birds fly, only the instinct to survive is what fights among these waters, and in the center of it all. Is the most relentless of instincts there has ever been upon these waters. The skillful pirate Persaveve, he has yet to be killed by those who hate him and those who wish to bring him to justice. It is told, that he had stabbed through the heart but was granted no death, for even the devil did not wish him in his house. To this day, it is believed that part of the sword that was forced through his chest remains within his heart. A six inch scar can be seen upon his chest from the blade. While the angry tantrum of the ocean wails upon the earth. Pe...

To Those With Depression To those that are depressed, I bring you these words and hope they fill the belly of your soul and nourish your heart, Today, may be tougher than the former or maybe not. Maybe, today is like any other day, you struggling  to remove yourself from your bed is but a wishful feat and nothing more. As you are coiled in the monotony of sadness that seeps from you like foul breath; from a desperate evening of melancholy. Maybe, the mere action to place a smile upon your face may feel like lifting the world from your chest. I know these feelings well, I know them as well as I know the color of my eyes. I know when even a sunrise is no more joyful than a slaved day at work. When the world is pressing you into the unimaginable sinking of despair. Where the air is thin but anxious thoughts a rabid. Where colors fade and all you see is grey and the whispers of death sound so sweet. Maybe you have fallen much further than I, where the act of infliction'...

A Poetic Thought A dime a dozen, a smile. The attraction of the unexpected, the never sought out. Wandering the pastures of an open heart. Leading with no concrete expectation. Breathing in the salted air as waves gently crash. Passing the fading past as if it is but only a foot print to be drowned. Listening with calm ears, following with eyes of magnificent curiosity as the seagull passes above. Calling out to the sea in search of others. Spreading wings to guide even in the coldest of days. Storms bolster with arrogance. Wavering a tantrum of rage, eventually calming in the wake of empty praise. Scars of the rash, but a remedy can be; plucked from the burdens of the chest. Shared in the commons of suffering. Letting no ill memory be the waking of thought. Standing steady even in the rush of agony. Allow no avalanche of tragedy to condense the purpose of life. Bleed from only the mistakes, the failures. Burrowing hills, reaching the peaks of mountains. Creating an abundan...

Choking On The Repressed  The door swings open, a ghastly wind rushes into the room. It takes hold his throat, he begins to choke; he struggles to his feet. Grasping at his throat his eyes strung wide he finds no passage to inhale. The candles lit upon his mantel fall. They catch fire to his antique rug. Suddenly the windows that overlook the valley lift open. More wind fills the grim space. The flames rise higher with the rushing presence of air. He continues to stumble around the room gasping for relief. The more he fights, the closer he feels at the foot of death. Visions begin to emerge, all those before him manifest from the raging flames and the dancing smoke. Voices eclipse his thoughts, darkness overwhelms his senses. A cold yet warmth gathers at his chest. He's sees a figure standing above him looking down as he falls upon his back begging for assistance. But the figure does nothing to repress the violent strangle that holds. His vision starts to blur, sweat ...