Micah Park Biffle

Six Feet Deep  The gloom, the despair, the anguish of existence. Oh how woeful be my life, my ever fading soul. The darkness will consume as I be but a frayed wick upon its last flame before I am snuffed. Oh how dreadful this be.  This miserable undertaking of life, doomed, doomed, doomed we are! As doomed as the ant is in the grasp of a child.  Be that life? A child with naive and destructive intent? Innocence mixed with desolation of those beneath it?  There is no escape from our fate. We surely all end as does the bright colors painted upon our once youthful faces.   I can hear it already, the wind of death howling over the jagged cliffs, sweeping through the pitch of woods. Cresting over the rolling hills like an army marching with triumph. I can feel it, its cold hands wrapping around my frail neck.   My breaths forming to the bitter air about me. I can see deaths eyes glowing from the shadows of my thoughts. How terrible, how frightful, ...

  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...

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...

A Love at War Darling, I stand before you as I prepare for my possible end, our end. For tonight I must take up my sword and fight for our country. I have bound myself to this country so that I may fight for it and allow it to stand beyond the test of time. To see its banner fly even through the darkest of times.  But my darling, as we take our last kiss and hold each other before we must say goodbye. Let it be known to you and the world, that I not only fight for the land beneath my feet and those that walk beside me. But fight for our opportunity of love.  I fight so that we may be safe in our homes. Safe, so that we may birth a family and grow old. I fight for our love darling. So that we may not love only for a moment, but for a lifetime. For we are given freedom to choose our love. To hold hands with whomever we may place our hearts upon.  I fight for these soils so that those who cannot defend themselves may have opportunity to live. Opportunity to do wh...

An Exit to Paradise The pressure of today has gotten to me.  My job feels like an overbearing weight upon my back. The world feels as if it will never allow me to catch up. I feel my heart being thrust into the atmosphere like a rock hurdled into the sky. I reach for it, but my grasp is to slow. So I watch it blend into the shadows of space. It twinkles for just a moment between the darkness and stars, as if to say goodbye one last time. It's five O'clock, I can finally step out of my office and breathe some air.  I'm walking down the hall to the exit, I can see the exit only a few more steps and I'm free. The glass doors shimmer from the evening sun. Casting shadows beneath the trees just outside. I long to bask in such shadows with a drink in hand and nothing but the wind. But as I leave and my hand touches the handle of the exit a voice calls my name, "Aires!"  I want to keep walking  but I know who it is and I know they know I heard. I he...

We Prepare Ourselves   We prepare ourselves in the rising sun or the sinking moon. We wake either in preparation of sadness or joy. Allowing the flakes of our agony to be our weather or the light of our hearts be our path. We prepare ourselves as we see ourselves.  Creating visions of rotting flesh or growing bones of strength. We sink or we rise with each waking morning. Sparking our day to begin, whether it be in the shadows of our pain or in the smile of our joy. We prepare ourselves with how we think.  We battle with instinct, to shrivel or fight. Allow burdens to be our predators or our prey. Shedding our fur to lighten our load, or hold dear to the dreary cold. We are what we design in the thrills of our being.  Lecture with care for the mind follows well. Seeking shelter from any enemy, even ourselves. We must learn to prepare for ourselves. We are quick addicts to pain but slow to happiness, to gratitude. For it is easier to crumble under pre...

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. ...

To Those With Depression To those that are depressed, I bring you these words and hope they fill the belly of your soul and nourish your heart, Today, may be tougher than the former or maybe not. Maybe, today is like any other day, you struggling  to remove yourself from your bed is but a wishful feat and nothing more. As you are coiled in the monotony of sadness that seeps from you like foul breath; from a desperate evening of melancholy. Maybe, the mere action to place a smile upon your face may feel like lifting the world from your chest. I know these feelings well, I know them as well as I know the color of my eyes. I know when even a sunrise is no more joyful than a slaved day at work. When the world is pressing you into the unimaginable sinking of despair. Where the air is thin but anxious thoughts a rabid. Where colors fade and all you see is grey and the whispers of death sound so sweet. Maybe you have fallen much further than I, where the act of infliction'...

A Courageous Purpose  He was only nineteen, much like those around him; he was lost in what life was and where he should go. High school was over and the doors of life were open. He was overwhelmed at the thought of opportunities; but something in him drove him from the average path. The choice to get a job or to go to college were dreadful thoughts. The idea of being placed once more in a room with a teacher. Listening to what mostly likely would have no interest in his heart nor mind; was agonizing to him. The mere thought of sitting at a small table stacked with books drew a nauseating urge from his gut. Boredom followed beside this nauseous feel. Though he felt no desire for either a job or school, he had to make a choice. His fathered gave him three , go to school, get a job, or move out. All three of those were dreadful angles of thought. Each tied a knot inside his heart, constricting his conscious will to create. But though he be a man of a creative mind....

Do We Know Happiness  The deeper I dig into this conscience, the darker the world becomes. Prickling with dismal allegories, and I can't help but feel as if there is no true happiness. That this word, "happiness," is but a false manipulation of the mind in the masses to carry out malicious intent.  To feed the society a spoonful of an abstract meaning, which I find to be unattainable. Even if one finds themselves in the embrace of "happiness," foolish acts are made. Arbitrary decisions drag out an in almost sadistic undertaking by the ego in an almost manic state. Rising one up only to drop them further, to press them into crises when anything fails. "Happiness;" what truly is it when we give it a name, a name to something that cannot be explained in words? No matter how many words we use to explain it, we often respond with, "I can't explain it, I just feel it." By no means am I saying one cannot be happy, that they shouldn...

Our Self-Loathing  Why do we do what we know will harm us? What is the joy of placing ourselves in agony? We so often play the victim of our heads. Stretching our days as far as we can; just to avoid the waking of the morning. To avoid the repercussions of our lousy ruling. But it is inevitable, that upon our waking, we shall regret last minute slumber. Too afraid to sacrifice the ails of our own doings for the gratification of the instant; of things that only consume us to decay. To not let go of what brings us meager comfort. Bringing atrophy, not only to the body, but to the mind. Till we are but walking ruins of disgust, that not even ourselves find joy in company. We elect food that rots our teeth over foods that bring us strength. We become sheep to our weakened ego and desire that which it favors. Feasting till our bowels become irritated with the digestion of the simplistic. As we watch our guts expand like the rapacious pig; ending each day in the misery of o...

A Curiosity of Tragedy  Young, and tragedy was is his bitter friend. Hand in hand they walk as they looked to the streets for vigor thoughts of death. Inspiration at the hands of the grotesque and the undesirable compositions of life. He found it strange no one desired to look deeper into what evoked fear and disgust. But strangely he was, much like a doctor is drawn to the speculation of sickness. Even at a young he would find deceased insects and animals and examine them. He would strike poems from their monstrous poise. Those in the surrounding streets found him odd, many would cross the street if they saw him approaching. But he paid them no mind for his thoughts were else where; dancing in the smog of sewers as he looked for new things of death. Scouring trees for rot or rats that had been feasted upon by their own kind. He found these things spectacular, they were something to be marveled. For what brings such an outcome of the living? Why must all come to an ...

A Scarecrow Soul I know not what is left, nor where I'm trying to go. Everything has become dull, no longer do I glow. I am a dying star that fades between the moon and the sun. Afraid to shine for I feel I have nothing left to grow. A field of empty souls is all I seem to know. I am but a broken vase tossed from the comfort of my shelves. I am shattered, battered by the hands of my own ghetto. Dancing in the dim limbo of dead crows, ergo, I am a feast for death. But thought is still brought, though I wish to breathe nothing. I clamber to be a maestro of the infernal, for there, I feel I have something to follow; an end. My ego sits hung from the hollow halls of my rotted chateau. Plastered like a Fresno I crumble with no caring of my colors. Stretched out, my mind weak, I tread upon a plateau. Flat, empty, stranded in an abyss as I stand in the middle. A scarecrow, a symbol to advert the whispers of light. Drained myself dry of marrow; given to the damned. My soul, n...

The Angst of Success and Popularity There is this angst to complete it now. To bring forth the riches that others posses. To force ones self into the putrid greed of material. To breathe in the vile waves of the rotten and live in the physical. I am saddened by this wish of existence. This existence to find one in the overwhelming need to present ones self as if to be a king or queen. But know nothing of how to delegate their actions, their emotions. They hold dear to show fashion, that supposedly makes them tingle, makes them smile. But dreary is the possessor of the concrete, the possessor who lives for nothing other, than the popularity of self. Shadows rot the cavities of their soul, but they speak of it not. They latch image, an image that is baked in the sugars of man. Only to be swallowed by the naive, the young, the reckless. The teachers of wisdom, the elders of experience, and ears to listen, have been plucked. Few gardens grow the willingness to be patient, to l...

An Unfortunate Story   His slumber is deep, his heart is light. But in the midst of a midnight hour, a knock reaches his door. He quickly wakes from the resounding sound of the knock. His eyes slowly adjust to the pitch black surroundings. He turns to the left side of his body, reaching into the darkness feeling for a candle. In his blind state upon the dark night, he finds the candle at the edge of his night stand. His steady but somewhat worrisome tact, he almost knocks the candle from its rightful place. But he catches it with the embrace of his index and thumb. He reels it in with slight struggle and sits up in bed.  Again, he hears the knock. His head promptly turns toward the noise. He stills himself as he listens for the knock once more. But it ceases, and as the silence coats his home in an eerie hold. He leans to his left once again and opens the drawer to his night stand. A distinct sound of old wood composes itself from the drawer.  Onc...

No Longer The Hollow Doll She is no longer the hollow doll that sat upon her shelf. Those tired eyes that caved with empty darkness no longer curse her. She sits no more lonely in the corners of her room. Fidgeting at the strands of her hair. She now lathers her mane in the warmth of water and wondrous grace of castile. Her eyes glow with the brilliance of candy apple green. Her lips coated now in the blush of red. She wears her shoulders with confidence. Her chest swells with wind as each breath is inhaled with courage, as well as exhaled in spirit. Her skin is no longer the complexion of a paled witch. Nor does it flake of the dead as if to be the home of the deceased. It no longer crawls with irritation of pestering itch. It holds now an amber haze, it glistens in under the sun as it is kissed by rain. It lives upon her as if she is held by a god of bronze. Her walk no longer swamped in the eager thoughts of meekness. Her strides reach with perfect poise. Each step peel...

What Keeps You Moving? What keeps you afloat in this drowning but dazzling world? Is it the flowers that bloom regardless of how bitter or harsh winter was? Do you find the drive to keep pressing on because of your children, your family, or friends? Or is it the fear of ever falling back to where you were? To lose all you have gained and become the frail pawn of sadness once more. To plummet to that dark alley where the scathing embrace of misery laid its head. Where the repugnant aroma of suffering breathed it breath. Leaving you soiled in its heated fluids of loathing. Causing the shivering of your soul as if to be a lonely child to the abuse of an unsightly offender. That empty room where you consumed the darkest thoughts as if it would bring hope. That addiction of agony that few truly understand. That excruciating feeling of wishing to expire and succumb to the insufferable call of death. What keeps you going? For what ever keeps you going, I pray the clari...

A Soul Which Forsakes Vision  I spin in infliction upon my barren stretch of the smitten lands that once held life with strength. But I have become beaten, my breath no longer an apron to catch the stains of my soul. I have begun the end of the beginning, I have been bitten. The vampire phantom of the broken has come for my salvation. Its palate distinguished for this exact occasion, surely my crimson blood shall be forgiven.  Blood thirsty have I become in my wake of passive caution in the ingestion of toxins. Slay me of my burdens, strain me of tension, bring me addiction to the poisoning of my vision. Leave me blackened as one would be in the annihilation of the sun. Allow me the appeasement of death from the inhalation of the deceased. As if caught in disease of the maddened. Strip me of my muscles of the mental and bring madness to my beacon. I am now up for auction, the highest bidder take my canon. Fire me from your tongue and let me do your bidd...

 A Romance of The Broken  I love you, Those three words, a massacre did they bring. My heart strung in agony for the world to see. To watch me bleed with boiling agony that not even I could contain. And with no sympathy, you packed your instrument of love, never to play by my side again.  I became an abandoned piano in the dust of your empty heart. And your lips turned sour with the mere thought of my yearning for your soul. A distant hand did you become as you vanished the recesses of my mind. Still, I gave you a place in my heart, though yours was a chamber of murder for mine.  I could not leave what I prayed would spark a new. That in the hour of midnight you would call to me. Not for the longing of an ear. But for the blooming desire of love, for something beyond what had been planted.  But with each passing night, I became but a mere poet of lonely stanzas. Not even the rays of the sun brought me hope. I grew dreary in the confines ...

Facebook A Spineless Beast  You spineless beast, you coward. Bleeding your words from behind curtains of lies. Traveling with baggage that burden you, much uneasy to each train you ride. But much could whisked away to the emptiness and never spoken of again. But you dribble your tasteless tongue with pity. Covering your lips in dark plaster, a substance you created. Drawing upon whomever will listen, whomever will coddle you with showers of pity. Filth ridden are you, disgust is what you paint. But you care not, you are an addiction in yourself, in your own false righteous pleas. Cawing like a crow upon a thin branch. Scouring for trash, for any sustenance that be ill to your gut. So that you may roll in complaints and become a creature of suffering. Aching in the sight of others, echoing in your oh so terrible existence. Appealing to those who pour with empathy, who's pores live for the seeping of helping others, though those they help may be treacherous in action. Y...