Micah Park Biffle

   Imagination to Change    High up we take to our imagination, for the world around us is poor. Broken, an apocalyptic spectacle that teeters on the unforgivable. Hundreds of abandoned buildings stand with dark and dreary faces. Broken windows form with jagged edges. Doors hang like  loose nails upon fingers and the walls slowly cave to the unwavering season of winter.   Empty lots of concrete split by the hand of nature. Weeds sprout like appendages reaching desperately for air. Once covered in the crust of  heavy darkness they now breach with a chance of breath.   But how foreign they appear to us, to me and my brother. We have been here our entire lives, in this, dark phantasmal place. This cryptic realm of what we are told is reality. But something we have always felt lingers in our heads, this thought of a better place.    A place where people smile as you pass by. A place where the efforts of man are not st...

A New Kid A New Challenge  This is the sixth house in past two years. Things are always changing and my roots are never settled. I am young, so much of my world is based around my friends. It's difficult at this point to even want to make friends.  I remain in this constant status of hovering, of always keeping my roots just above ground. I allow them to hold to the top of the soil. Just enough to keep me sustained during the cold nights alone. This allows me to never completely settle upon any one place, allowing me to detach in a moments notice. I make friends, but I don't get too close. It's hard sometimes not too, you find some great friends and you want to become best friends, but you know you could be moving at any time. Some places, unfortunately never allow me to make friends. I show up as the new kid and am instantly placed as an outcast. Some schools are harsher than others, I realize this now. But it is challenging to always be the new kid, to always ...

Unsustainable Victims  From place to place: path to path, home to home, forest to forest we roamed. No true land to call home, but home was with each other, no matter where we were. Stopping down dark paths in the night, setting camp, playing music beneath the studded stars of the sky.  We were a family of many and a family of the unconventional. Never weighed by the grasp of the civility of society. We were always on the out, on the edge, standing, watching; tempted. At least, I was tempted.  My family never stayed in one spot too long. Never embedded in society, created us not to be welcomed in an abrupt fashion. Either pushed from land by owners, park enforcement, the law, or even animals. My family lived in the wild of the earth.  I must say, in the honesty of it all, we were not the best of people. I was taught to steal, to trick, to lie, so that we may put food on our tables. We were great at hunting, but it is difficult to feed a caravan of hundred...

Follow me on  Twitter A Thankful Sacrifice Voices gather throughout this home, as a fire is lit, and music plays softly as children dive rigorously  into their imagination. Smells christen the air as they waltz across the sense of pleasurable memories that bring no burden.  The music delicately coats the home like the rising color of crimson along the morning horizon. All is certain in this moment as all have this day in common. No one is forgotten, no go hungry in this is this day that glistens.  Cheerful spirits lift this home from any friction and all become gladdened. The weather frosts the grounds but in here, among the fire, that plays with a hot hand of a chemical heathen. None are opposed or notice the cold. As they drink and laugh among the sweet scent of lemon.  The elders gather the children and begin to tell tales of the magical huntsman. The one that saves the princess from an evil legion. And finds himself against a tho...

A Monstrous Machine and A Simple Habit  I wish to turn something dull into something magnificent. I wish to turn the mere actions of one into something transcendent to the senses. Actions one does from the mere sake of habit: The sound of water flows from a single point. Fingers from an early morning rise find themselves delve into the flowing water. The water rushes upon the fingers like a flood. With no anticipation to stop the water falls in perfect harmony upon the skin. Caressing the flesh as it is resisted to stay. Falling quickly to the basin of its now new home.  As water rushes the fingers adjust to the rising temperature of the tempered water. As the water rises in heat. The fingers are removed from beneath the translucent life, the fingers glide back from the pouring of water. Gently the fingers clasp upon glass, raising it from a cold, silent, ivory surface.  The air is brisk, silently collective with the smells morning dew and the crisp f...

We Have Forgotten Our Warriors  No longer do we praise the warrior like that in the days of the knight. No longer do we sit by our bedside and pray for the warrior as he dawns his armor for war. No longer do we weep in the destruction of man and the blood that spills upon sands.  Too many preach of the warrior as if their existence is futile in the eyes of change. That bringing weapon against evil is no way to live. But they do not see the tyranny of evil, the cumbersome loses and poison they bring.  Too many have not felt the heat of war, the anger of evil.  Too many have not seen the vision of hell upon earth. The screaming, the dying, the forgotten. The innocent spent as mere pawns to keep a regime thriving like jungles beneath rain.  Too many have not seen the tears of families, wives, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, upon the death their warrior.  Few have felt the burden of the constant eye to stay alive. To wonder if th...

A Love Gone, A Heart Taken She feels as if she is alone in everything. As if her heart is but a lonely pearl at the bottom of the sea. Beneath the sands in the deepest of oceans. Darkness fills a void in her chest, shadowy creatures plunge deep into her soul and scatter like roaches. Finding any crevice to hide within. Only to be scene in the shadows by their thimble sized eyes in the reflection of the moonlight. As her eyes are still to the motion of the world. Alone she sits, as music plays delicately between the silence of her slow beating heart. A heart that beats in sadness, hollow drums march in sluggish rhythm. She finds the world to have taken what she once was. But now, a foolish fool she feels as her eyes set upon a pale ring wrapped around her finger. Betrayal of the highest has crushed her existence, blinding her of her once sweet smile. And as she sits with a heavy heart as thunder breaks the sky and rain washes the earth. She thinks to herself, "...

What is left of a warrior after war, when all the the dust has settled and the bodies have been collected? A desolate landscape awaits most. Some find nothing beyond the blade, beyond the screams of battle. Some are torn between now and then, like the tortures of lost love. Falling ill to shadows and the coldness of the mind. Fort Warden, WA Shallow motions of empty thought carry along side many. Searching for meaning beyond the whims of instinct. Beyond the ideal skill of a predator. Too many become lost with no hope but the kiss of death. Whispering to the hateful wishes of demons. As they lie with terrible eyes, leading the lost to the end of a rope or the piercing of flesh. There is no safe passage for a warrior after war. Hell they have crossed and hell they must traverse. Numbness masks their souls as they find their way. Will they survive is all left to the warrior. And survival is what they know, but many know not the horrors that await them alone.  Many do not lo...

Nights were far from elated. Arguments were our forte, it was our nightly thing. Like reruns of your least favorite show, playing your least favorite episode over and over. Yea, that was us, every night for three months straight. Either I did something wrong or I didn't do enough. I can still feel the animosity clouding the house. Our arguments haunted the very walls of our home and engraved themselves our foundation. The heat from the arguments you could feel rise from floor just before the first words were shouted. Our home was a nightly battleground and I always left with my head cut from my shoulders.  See, I had been laid off from work for six months. Those six months I stayed home and cared for our child. At first it was great; my wife could work and she did not have to worry about me working late and having to watch our daughter for the rest of the night. Things seemed to fit well together then. But, after about the third month, I started to struggle and she could see t...