Micah Park Biffle

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....

   A Man's Traveled Heart                                                                There Is No Boredom  This earth is no placed to be fixed, no place to be at a single point. Ah, the wonders that lie ahead. A nomad must a heart be. To truly embrace the eclectic sanctuary that is the ever expanding universe. Spinning us around and around a hundreds of times a year. Creating a connection to something that could boil us an instant if we drew too close. Frightful is this and if caught in a sudden stop, we would fling from the comfort of our grounds and we would burn like the stars.  This danger excites the heart. It pierces the simplicity of boredom when one finds the utmost danger in the utmost simplistic scenarios. And from those minut thoughts of tickling fear of adrenaline, blossoms knew gro...

Give your soul nourishment Read  A Man's Traveled A Chasm Of A Heart The chasm of the heart runs deep, deep in a broken soul. It hollows the veins of the heart like the halls of an abandoned cathedral. The wind whispers where blood once flowed, it whispers with a doleful voice. Carrying what blood is left like the fallen flakes of flesh to a passing breeze. It beats with no reason but to keep one living. It feels with anger, with sadness, drowning hope in tears. Suffocating what breath of life is left inside. Its coldness creates a bitter tone, it carries  a distasteful flavor upon the beating of the heart. It gives no solace in the emptiness it bears. This chasm is a mournful place. It poisons the soul with each day it grows. Voiding all life that clings to the walls of the heart. As ones soul pleads for forgiveness in self. Delicate becomes the heart, becomes the soul. Bruised in ego and spirit, shrinking like a puddle to a rising sun. Feeling no warmth in the d...

Find me on  Twitter The Selfishness Of Man Three heads emerged from the clouds, and as the boy looked up he placed no fear upon his face. He stood with fortitude, ready for what ever may come of this. His blade at hand, his brow covered in sweat. Below him, as he stood on the bridge before these three heads. A great battle lay beneath him, a battle that has raged for thousands of years. Even though this boy stands at the top of clouds, the rumbling of the battle could be heard. It cracked liked thunder beneath his feet, even the pounding of his own heart was drowned by the thunderous fight. And as he stood, looking at these heads that wear great crowns of stone and gold. Their eyes mighty in brilliance as they reflect like gems upon the sun. He yelled out, what he wished for his people, for himself. And for a still moment, the heads stared with no response. The boy clenched tighter around his blade, readying himself for battle. But the heads began to talk. All spoke wi...

Find me on  Twitter You Shall Never See  You have not seen the candle that burns through the night. The wax that melts as it wishes to escape the flames. But no matter, for I will find a new candle and I will set it ablaze. I will close my window, my door, and I will place pages at my hands. I shall strike the pages before me, as does a painter to their canvass. Finding harmony in a single light among the night. Creating blisters upon flesh from endless nights, though fatigue had found me every day. And the wish to fall away from it all, never to wake. You never shall see my tiresome eyes flounder about the lines before me. Finding difficulty in even the creation of a letter. But I do not falter to the exhaustion of my body. For my soul is what drives me, it drives me to the heavens. Beating loud in the night, spreading its wings to soar above the clouds. But you shall never see this, for all this is done behind the walls of my home. Behind the tinkering of my ...

We Are Beyond Our Flesh  Its as if I am but an extension to my actions. That what I choose and what I do, are truly not mine. I have felt the darkest dark's, and the brightest brightest. I have wallowed in the silence of the damned and laughed among the angels. And in all these strange wanderings, I have come to see that I am not me. That I am not the skin upon my flesh nor the bones that keep me upright. I am more than the eyes that sit inside my head like beads. I am more than the fingers that plunge into the creation of writing. There is much I cannot explain, nor do I wish to. But I feel as if every moment I am awake. There is a force that wishes to pull me. That wishes to see me design, mend, and be. I have dreamt the most vile visions and dreamt of the most beautiful views. But in these dreams I feel as if they are not truly me. That it is not the nerves that spark the thoughts, the visions. But that they are creation beyond my control, beyond what I see. For too ...

I Close My Eyes To Live I am twisted in the fate of life, its hands mold and knead with precision. Though I wish to resist its envious hands. I do not become complacent in my own doing. For life may be a bitter voice, but in the bitterness, I taste the sweet nectar of destiny that leads with milky lips. For I have found that in the anger of life, there is happiness. And in the pains of life, I have found a seed that sprouts a mighty root. A root that grounds me from the storms. And I am able to grow to the heavens. To reach the stars and talk among the moon. And on the moon, I reach into my pocket of tears and plant them one by one, carefully. And in the planting I hear my broken heart weep for each. For each tear, had given me release of the hollowed voices that whispered in my ears. And now, now drums of my magnificent imagination. Triumphantly conquer the lands of the damned that have spread like disease upon my thoughts. Life, may be a vile in its intentions, t...

Fallen To Society  It starts out grand, glorious, magical, with a slight hint of reality. All things are new, all things transpire in extraordinary breath. Our eyes gleam with excitement with each passing day. Till we no longer can remain in shuttering struggle to stay awake. Even the stars are miraculous, bleeding with a stupendous view. Leaving not a moment for us to think the world is otherwise.  Our innocents compliments our curiosity, though we may find ourselves behind a pointed finger of anger. Only to end up with a smile so splendid, those that care, but must punish, can no longer remain riddled with temper. We charm our way with pleasant laughter and doughy eyes. We find our hearts to brim with happiness, with most ambitious dreams. And when we learn to speak, though limited it may be. We become an adventure of why. Seeking answers though we may have no sense. Only to antagonize the elders to feel the limits of their patience. And unknowingly, we become m...

Become The Angel You Pray For  Fly fly fly! Fly till your wings can hold you no more. And when you fall, fall with grace, fall knowing you will fly again. Rest your wings upon the clouds of faith. Hold dear your heart to your dreams. Glide across the open oceans of your life and catch the waves head on. Sail bravely against the storms though you may break. And upon breaking, you shall find new ships, new wings, new winds to sail. For nothing new is found in the mundane, in the wreckage of the old. Spark your heart with a kiss for the unexpected, the unknown. Bleed your soul of the old, of the used and stitch what remains with the grace to lift you. You are the ideal being to create your dreams. To build a solid ship that will turn waves of cruel ruin, into gentle ripples of a puddle . Split your oceans in two with the mere faith that you have within yourself, and with that which is intangible. Be the lighting that strikes, but do not strike out of fear. Strike out ...

Be As Does A Tree This is your moment, where you will guide yourself like that of a tree. You will remain still in your beliefs. Holding through all weather though you may feel brittle in the coldness. In the lonesome nights toward your happiness as does the tree in winter. That stands alone among all the rest. Be gentle in your thoughts as does the tree. Growing steady and never to linger too long at one height. Grow with patience as does the tree, never faltering to what those around it do. Never listening to the faults that the mind gossips to stunt your rise. Build armor among your soul through all the suffering as does a tree in its growth. Growing from sapling, innocent and silent, to an abundant beauty of awe. But steady does it grow, with vigor even through the harshest of storms. And with each passing day, a new layer of bark is laid. A new ring with each passing year. As reminders of its vicious but glorious past, that has made it what it is today. A reminder of ...

A Monstrous Machine and A Simple Habit  I wish to turn something dull into something magnificent. I wish to turn the mere actions of one into something transcendent to the senses. Actions one does from the mere sake of habit: The sound of water flows from a single point. Fingers from an early morning rise find themselves delve into the flowing water. The water rushes upon the fingers like a flood. With no anticipation to stop the water falls in perfect harmony upon the skin. Caressing the flesh as it is resisted to stay. Falling quickly to the basin of its now new home.  As water rushes the fingers adjust to the rising temperature of the tempered water. As the water rises in heat. The fingers are removed from beneath the translucent life, the fingers glide back from the pouring of water. Gently the fingers clasp upon glass, raising it from a cold, silent, ivory surface.  The air is brisk, silently collective with the smells morning dew and the crisp f...