Micah Park Biffle

Two Heart Between The Moon and Sun This was not what was to be, I thought surely the moon spoke clearly. That the stars were aligned in the birth of our hearts. But now I see, as tears come to be. That we shall no longer breathe, neck to neck. But rather, between the spaces of our broken hearts. Where the sun never meets the moon and dreams never meet reality. We shall be but ghosts in our memories of either. We will sleep with empty arms, feeling the air become brisk in midnight's breath. Already so lonely, and only a night apart. I feel your heart, as if it is mine. Pale are my lips as we have not kissed. I see the lonesome eyes of grief settle upon my hips. Replacing what would be, our moment of bliss.  I cry, oh I cry, but quickly replace my tears with whiskey sips. Staring at the empty side, at which you used to rest. Our music idle in the background of my mind. I replay our dances, our laughs, as if they are but something that just went amiss; waiting for the...

A Psychosis Love  A psychosis of the heart, feeling what is not there. Seeing what is more but illusions of ghostly figures. A past that has been torn from the chapters like poison in the flesh. Blending the abstract to feel of reality. Though beautiful in thought, art is but the savvy of the heart; and the mind enriches such abstractions. Mixing with the intent to stay in the familiar, though pain may follow. A gorgeous crescendo only to bleed out unto the soul and flood it with no hope of breath. Not even an ark can save one from such a destructible pair. Leading one to be sheep, in their own acceptance of their naive choice. Hurdles of misery are so simple, as one knows the outcome for each. So they race to each only to fall; never taking up practice to leap. For fear of what lies to the other side is more frightful than the repetition of a mangled heart. So they become but a heart of the catatonic; rigid in suffering. They stare idle into what they know they...

A Distant Heart I do not know the callings of connection. Linking one heart to the next, only bruises. I know not the beauty that strings from the correlation of common affection; blood or not. I am strangely distant in my taking of such things. Arms length is my comfort, it is the distance I allow my heart. Even then, I am cautious to contemplate the display of it. Even in the ideal of family I pose a gap between each member. Most would seem that I am reposed in my position of such a thing. Friends, and dare I say family; see me as welcoming and open. But I steer between the fine lines of loving and caring. I skate the outer lines of it all, keeping my hands to my back and heart to my chest. No need, nor the want of my pulse to pump from sleeve. For there, any can see its pattern and carefully concoct a scheme to poison. To place me beneath a spell and travel with little discretion. I fear I was born with an unpleasant amount of empathy, even my enemy I care deeply for. ...

Tragedy Holds A Key  Tragedy- a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster. Tragedy, an unfortunate circumstance that is never punctual in its arrival. Always arriving when it suits its desire. Never in the perfect moment, where stability meets horror. It appeals to its own derivative of existence. Bearing no idealistic compassion for its unsightly contributions to those it harms. But, beneath its unorthodox approach to its instruction of its self. It bears something no other event can bring. Though it brings much grief, misery, and entrails of suffering; there is a seed. A tiny seed, which can neither be touched nor seen, only felt. A seed that brings opportunity, character, resistance and, wisdom. But these gifts are not without tribulation. Many may think tragedy is but a selfish creature; maybe so. But if greeted by heart and not of the mind, one can receive great abundance of spirit; life. For what is lost, is never truly lost. It must go...

A Murdered Love of War Three hundred and sixty-five days since she held him in her arms. Her whole body swept up in anxious fright and joy. She thinks to herself, "Will he remember me? Will he still love me?" She throws on her best dress and lipstick; looks herself in the mirror and says, " I am gonna go the hair salon and strike myself the hair of an angel!" Still looking herself in the mirror she twirls around with a large smile, "Oh my, I can feel my heart beating against my chest." She smiles and lets out a small giggle. She stops twirling and slides her hands down her sides, over her hips to make sure the dress forms perfectly to her body. She then places a hat upon her head to hide her wild hair before it is touched by her stylist Mary. She quickly steps over to her closet, picks up her red heels and she rushes out her room and down the stairs. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and places on her heels. While struggling to keep her ...