Micah Park Biffle

 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 ...

Where the Mind Quits  This is where the mind quits and the heart ticks. Where everything is on the line and life becomes a burden with just one misstep. Either follow the mind and walk into the abyss, close your eyes and rest. Or this, this is where you take in a deep breath, fill your chest and do your best. Where the rest will look to you as if you are full of it. As if your gestures of dedication are worthless. A futile attempt to act as if you are something else. But you take every moment as if it is your last. You spring forth from the exhaustion that requests your tired eyes to surrender. To create a blur of what could be better, what could become your bender of after. You ignite a fire and follow the ember of your boiler. Where you toss the old, the lies, the temptations, and live as if you are going to die. You no longer live in between the lines, but have chosen where you shall stand. You are a breather of the brighter. A bringer of the hour, a conqueror, but...

Capture The Fading and Lose the Moment Capture this moment, not in a frame but in the heart. Let it live like a subtle kiss upon the head. Be gentle in the holding of it. Cherish it, embellish it's existence upon its rising memory. For only once will this happen, only once will this moment be. Time has slipped, there is no going back. There is no sand to hold in your frail hands. Though you may be strong, death is seeping into your veins with each breath. And their is no cure, for life is hard on all, for we all are victims of an end, of time. Hold tight to the traditions between friends, between love. For they are but a symbol for what was once something fresh. Bringing harmony to the passing of time. Creating a well of healthful memories. Do not fret in the loss of passing time. As long as you abide by the desires within, taking action far from the temptations of the instant. You shall find yourself expanded beyond the stars. Ecstasy will entrench your body. F...

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...

-Lost passion- Upon oak wood, a frozen glass. Clattering of ice like thoughts clashing in class. Eyes fixated to keys, withering mind like a useless mass. Nothing sprung, nothing sung, just emptiness rung like cars through an overpass. But fingers crawled across black stricken symbols, bold to create a thought into motion. Yet, thoughts never seem to last. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A mind is fickle as it battles the heart. A mere choice to sit or stand can change the mood of one's moment. As the mind says to sit, but the heart says to stand, to stand and overlook. To see it all like a king standing confident upon his castle's balcony. But overwhelmed is a consistency with the mind.  Never truly deciding, always eager for hiding. Just to decide where to place thoughts and express emotion from the mind to fingers to letters set with meaning. Sometimes this, this is the hardest strugg...

Dear Future family, I do not know who you will be or how we will meet. But what I do know, is that I will meet you. That I will care for you with the deepest conviction. I know the struggles of life and I know the hardship that can come with love and family. I know that nothing will be perfect but, in my eyes you will be. You will be the perfect example of what life can bring of what life should be. Life filled with those you love and moments of grace never wasted. Life filled with the laughter of joy and tears of happiness as we watch times change and us grow. You will be my everything and my anything. You will be the reason I rise in the morning and smile, the reason I push myself past my limits to better improve our lives and myself. To give us the freedom to be a family twenty-four-seven. Not just a family on the weekends when we have days off from school, work, business, or whatever it may be. We will be each others enhancements of ourselves, we will be the light that shine...