Micah Park Biffle

A Common Ground of Love He is broken, found lying in silence on an autumn afternoon. Catching breath from the emptiness that shadows his every step, like the craving of the devils appetite to flesh. His eyes closed in search of peace in the ever rapids of his thoughts.  His breath leading into the air like a cloud of mist falling from the mouth of a beast. His heart heavy, his skin pricked by the crisp air that swallows the silence. The silence he finds to be ill fit for himself but finds this illness. To be slightly comforting in what mental health he does not posses.  And as he recedes into his mind with lonely and anxious speech. Like does a hermit to his home, someone knocks upon his air he breathes. And as a shadow skews what little warmth the sun is offering. He opens his eyes with slow methodical motion looking up to a shadowed figure that stands above. His eyes quickly dilate to the flooding particles of light.  And above him stands a woma...

A Dead Dreamer They are grotesque, dull in vision, dull in life. They speak with disease, with illness. They see grey upon all flowers, mountains, and rain. They look no further than their breath, they speak no further than their day.  They find feast upon the damned, upon the withering fields of souls. Plucking newly planted seeds and devour with delight. They shackle their surrounding with bitter taste and soils of resentment. They spit at the nourishment of water. They poison their own wells and gladly share the contaminated. They see no fault in the dwelling of self.  They shift their tongues like the devil, they lurk in the hate of their own shadow. They seek no peace, only slaughter.  Praising in the pain of their massacre. If murder was able, they would find themselves painted in blood. An abomination they be, sweltering in the anguish of the plain. Finding the finest escape in the false actions of flesh. It is in their shoes they find poverty ...

Do Not Make Waves Or Prison is Where You Will Stay In a world where everyone is the same there was nothing extraordinary. For no one drove against the normality of society. For those that did, either disappeared or were scolded and tossed to poverty. All things were fair, from salary to food. No family had too much, no family had too little. But no family was without more than four. No one was without employment, CEO's did not exists. Bosses did not exist, hierarchies did not exist. Only a government that "knew" well for its people. If one did no like their job, they were simply transferred till they were happy. If no job could suffice their happiness, they would not speak of this. For three jobs transfer is the max, to be fair for all. And if they did speak up after the third transfer, the consequences are unknowing, for those that have, were never heard of again.  An entire family vanishes if one member cannot feel happiness from their life. Disagreements ar...

-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 ...

Stars stare with sorrowed eyes through a small window as night embraces with its dark silk skin. A man sits alone behind cool brick and a window that sits too high. His hands, his feet bounded by heavy chains but he will not defy. His eyes buried by black rings, like that of a raven’s eyes. His face torn by the weather's harsh kiss and the burdens of himself as he brews to the unwise. His body thin to bone, weak from his suffering, he was once king. But now lay a false man, cut from his throne, by the ill speaking of a lie. Too long, he thought it best to bury to the sands of time. To let it be swaddled by truth as if to mummify. But seekers of the past will always find.  He knows no place hide as the moon beams high, sitting in the sky with a prying eye. As if waiting for the confession of a crime. Its blue flesh shines brightly given view to the man’s paradigm. But the man sees no joy in the light of the moon or the eyes of the stars. He only feels the pounding of his heart,...

-A Soul- I sit, I sit, I sit, I sit. Here we are, we sit. Our hearts no longer fit. You ignored the consequences of your own misfit. You burden me further as if nothing to omit. We must talk behind closed doors with a watchful eye. My soul unlit. Where have you gone and what have you done…. Why have you made it here,  I feel echoes of my voice as if to be falling in a mindless pit. I think what hell this has become. Numb, as I sit. Where we must sit, I sit, we sit. Locked in a room and you lost in it. This heart I had for you, lost. I try to find it. I try to cast it. But the connection is no more, it has split. Please let me rest and place you no more as a burden upon my chest. ---------------------------------------------------------- It was no more burdensome from the first call or the second, they were both a tell-tale of mistreated life. His heart split, but only for a moment, as if he knew one day this would come. His ...