Micah Park Biffle

   The Harbor Beast    There we stood at the harbor, our weapons drawn. Our hundreds of ships shredded like veal to the tortures of a fork. Screams of men echoed through the thickly laid fog. Every man's heart beat could be heard that day.  Our bayonets branded upon our guns. Others stood with swords drawn, but what good were they? What good were any of us?  The desolation that floated among the harbor waters, was as if the wrath of god had rained down, and it was teaming with horrors. You could hear the screams of men vanish to silence as if death had rose from the water. And the most haunting thing of that day still rests in my head like a scar upon the flesh. One of my men, my own son, aboard the ship I was designated for had swam to the very dock we stood upon. But as I and other men tried to save him, something took him. Something powerful, something beyond our eyes.  In one foul second we lost our grip and he was taken under with ea...

  Mirror Hill    Today, I take myself to the edge of Mirror Hill. It has been a long day, a day where I feel lost, dropped from my path and left to wander with idle wrath. Fighting to keep myself from breaking into million different parts. Only to end up as a broken as a doll on a shelf praying for the aging girl to pick me up. But times change and I must accept that I am no longer the hot toy of today. So I must work, change, find myself a better me, a better way, adapt to that which will give me praise.  And here I am, ink and page, sitting atop Mirror Hill, where it leaps to the bounds of the clouds and is found to be the place of quiet sounds and inspiration. Do not get mixed that this shall be thoughts of rhymes, I merely took trap to my own often annoying scheme to rhyme.   So let us begin, let us drive our eyes into the thoughts of my aging bones and fading mind.   There secretes this bitter taste of lemons from this open view. I s...

                                                                    Suicide Forest What you are about to read is an event I so dearly wish was a dream, but unfortunate it was an unfortunate event I unfolded upon myself.      I decided to travel to the suicide forest. Why, I am not sure and am still not sure. But something drew me too it. Picture after picture I studied with great detail. Examining every spec of each photo as if there was a clue to saving myself from a deathly illness.    Each body that hangs has a uniqueness, each their own sadness; grief. If you stare long enough you can almost feel their spirit weeping. It is as if they are still alive, trapped in the echoes of time. Atoms circling, but lost, corrupted in an early death.    Like the deletion of...