Micah Park Biffle

A Ranchers Love    Another day at the hands of hard labor. His heart loved, but his body trembling with exhaustion. Age is finding home inside his brittle bones as pride takes his logic. His hands as calloused as his first years. His body, ruffled by the heat of the sun.  His eyes embellished by the circling of darkness, the perching of crows. His hair, as ghostly as the morning mist. His face, worn, with years of dust, dirt, and grim. But his smile still remains, his heart still beats as if sixteen.  Jasper, opening the door to his lodge house that sits dead center upon his land. Steps inside and removes his boots. Holding each in one hand he turns to the opened door and clacks the boots together. Clouds of dust waft from the bottom of his boots. Chunks of mud fall to the heavy vibrations of the repetitive collision.   With the boots cleared, he places them to the left of the door just inside. Jasper turns to the door and shuts it. Turning back to...

Hard Work Lost    How easy it is, to lose it all. To have your hard work stricken from existence with a simple press of a button. Oh, how I sometimes miss those days of the typewriter, of ink and pen. But those days have sadly gone and went.  We are now digital, where everything is permanent, yet not. All could be lost by the massive inception of a virus. Corrupting every picture, every word, every video you ever took, written, or saw. Anything and everything up in smoke. Or rather ripped apart into ones and zeros.   But we must not become fools to our wretched existence that is often held with beauty. We must not let the fallback's, the tribulations of disaster be our guide for emotion. Rather, look at these deletions, these corruptions of work, these ashes of hard work.   As a lesson to be more careful, a lesson to grow more patient. Learn to persevere when others fall to disaster. We are not perfect and no matter how diligent you work to become, th...

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...

A Man Productive Man A constant teething of stress always bides my heart. As rigid thoughts of insufficiency crowd my mind. I become strung out like an animal hide to the high sun. Dehydrated of peace, of any serenity if I ever had any. I am a coastline of desolation as I always fear I have not done enough. Sopped in the downpour of sadness as I feel no closer to my accomplishments with every passing day. I am tough to my very second of each hour, of each minute. I may smile as I pass by, but guilt throngs my heart. Like a room two sizes too small for a hundred souls. Shoulder to shoulder my guilt aligns with my happiness, my serenity. Slowly pressing it out as I wake each morning. Becoming of victim of my own thoughts. Pressing myself to do better, but even when I do, it does not feel to be enough. I could write a million words a day and still feel insufficient in my endeavors. Rarely will you catch me not thinking of my next step, my next word, my next story. I create ne...

A Beggar and A Daughter  A queen she is, dawned in the cold embrace of winter. Her handmaidens as lovely as her. But her spirit glows much brighter. Her eyes are sentient, each showing the provoking emotion of her soul. They are gentle, yet powerful in presence. She walks with humble steps but prides her posture in confidence. Her wings touch the clouds, her heart the stars. She was once the empty heart of a beggar. Grown in the slums of Niddle Wick. A town of harsh souls and even worse weather.  But her ever persistent heart to be more, always presented her a smile. A reason to be swelled in hope though her father be a vagabond of the streets. She loved him though he was resistaned to hope. His heart weighed heavy from his past. He was clouded in the aftermaths of his hell. Allowing the roots of his regrets and fear to tangle his soul in the frozen hold of his thoughts. His eyes, weak, bitter, his skin tattered from the elements. He holds obsessively to his...