Micah Park Biffle

  Step Out! Out, Out from the gloom, The obscure breath of doubt Take stone, break thy yoke, Let trouble fall, let shoulders be lifted, Flow, to the heavens Be but strain no more, Open wide, thy mouth, Let prayer fill thy tongue Be parched no more. Stillness in heart  Though seas roar like lions, And beast snarl among mist, Step,  Out! To mercy of life, Ease, be reborn. Let no shackle of past Be meaning for tear Take hammer,  Fracture the cumbersome Be feet of swift Fill your days with strides, Though dunes widen And heat scorches thy soles. Out, Step out from thy fear, There is another to call To breach, To reach your heart  Though thee be of man, Let not thy eyes of flesh Be the dealings of truth, Wander, In aspect to be whole Be not the coward hidden in cave, A creature curled  Like frightened doe, For he walks beside thee, Like king among his men, A sword of greatness Sways from his belt, Ready, To swing against thy enemies, A presence more bold  T...

 A Fathers Twist For Love   The old man sinks his teeth into the bloody stake. His jaw moves slowly as age has taken to this old mans body. He sits alone as his somber face looks to an empty seat. His hair slicked back, his glasses sitting snug upon his face.   He wears a black tie and a black suit. Appearing as if from a funeral. As I sit from my table I watch  with a strange feeling of sadness. I know nothing of this old man, but he sits alone, challenging himself with each motion.   His frail body postures in a slump as I assume his bones are not longer a concern of his. As he sits chewing his steak he places down his fork and reaches into his suit pocket. From it he pulls out a rose, with a stem no longer that of a finger.   On the other end of the table sits an empty glass and other dining amenities. He carefully stands up and starts to walk, doing his best not to strain himself. Each step is merely inches, his hand reaches out with the ros...

A Pocket Flower   I breathe upon the cold morning glass as I look out into the open plains of the country. And with my finger I draw a heart splitting in two, it quickly fades. I look back out into the world and design a new one.   I let my senses roam wild as imagination rushes from my head like water. Flooding my view with bountiful ideas. I see titans clashing, gods fighting, I see mysteries lingering in the lonely mist. I see monsters creeping from the distant moons and music flow gently from the darkened woods.   I watch golden leaves fall as the sun begins to rise. The soft tone of frozen grass begins to sparkle. I see birds thrust from their nests and chirp to the vast outreaches of nature. I am overwhelmed by what I see, and I smile.   I breathe again upon the cold morning glass. But this time, I draw a single heart held together. I let it fade as the last, but this time I breathe upon the glass once more. I observe the heart I drew with much thou...

Among T he Graves I walk From the graves I walk, my skin taught, the crows high and the skies bleak. My eyes are weary and so be my heart. The tombs at my feet scream, they plead for me. But I see, nor feel no need to listen. I have contemplated the end and its desire for me. I shed my arms like a tree to the wind. Leave me burdened with no limbs to hoist the heavy weight. Weigh me heavy upon these rotted soils and let me sink. Let me think of all the wretched things I have done, I have become. I wish for no more than to be the feast of crows. For at least, they will have a purpose for my death, my life. There is only stillness in the breath I take. I am walking in the slumber of my head, numb. Count the feathers as they fall, for each is of something I have never told. Buried, my tears are quiet. I look to the sky through the noxious vapors of my voice. What do I see, but the empty toils of what is not to come. My body meager in the urge to press forward. ...

The Shadows We Breed  My skin crawls, shriveling toward my anxious thoughts. My eyes oscillate in attempt to scour the darkness for hope. But there is no light, only the black breath of my falling thoughts. A cloud emerges from the tail of my tongue. I can hear the scurrying of rats in the pitch of darkness as I begin to cower to the corner. Hungry are they, and I a meal for the ages. I curl up in the fetal, shivering like a lonesome child. Afraid, abandoned by the warmth of love. Everything is desecrated, what is left, but to allow devastation and I to be consumed by that which lurks in this unholy of rooms? This dark cloud swarms my throat and I feel nothing but the bitter cold, like the first kiss of winter, after it has conquered the last field of crops; and I, that field. As I quiver in this empty room, I cannot see the shadows that form from my breath. But I can hear them as if they are my own voice, vivid are they. They speak with malice, trickling with lips of l...

Cradle This  Cradle this, What ever it may be to you, hold it. Let its fire rise like the flames of a burning forest. Allow new sediment to settle. To bring new life from the old and propel the dead from the soil. Allow new leaves to breathe and roots to sprout new roses. Let the petals expand into an expanse of endless thought. Where journeys are bountiful and all is encouraged in growth. Being not tempted by the swaying tentacles of the damned. As they are portrayed in the depths of sea by delicate light. Many are driven to their luxurious beauty. Only to find themselves bound to their poison, falling ill in spirit. Calling out woes at the most minuscule of disruption. What ever this may be to you, embrace it. Let yourself dance in its glory, for it is a miracle. For too often we are seamlessly pursuing the perversion of what lies at our feet. Turning our heads to the immediate, while flowers reach out to the far. Stretching to what they shall never have, only to...

The Flavor of War A roaring crowd of excitement and love. The return of fathers, sons, and brothers. Relief is the scent of the heart in this beating moment. At least, that is what it seems to be; but returning from the horrors of war, many are broken, but unaware. Shadows drag behind closed eyes as they speak with loquacious tongues. Creating seamless memories to haunt with vivid realities. Tones of hell creep from the guilt that putrefies the soul. Rotting it with inflamed shame. Coating the mind in endless darkness as pale eyes gaze with memory. Calling out the shadows that be the ghosts of battle. Flashes of heat engulf the body at rest; waking in an alert of anxious recollection of what one hopes to omit with the passing of time. But hell knows of no such passing. It embodies itself in the pasture of mind and body. Entangling with depraved taste for madness. Boiling the mind in copious memoirs of terror; the actions of man. Blood curdling from lungs, limbs severed from...