Micah Park Biffle

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...

A Silent Killer  It has been sixty-three days and I have seen not a single living soul. The country has become desolate, bodies lay like scattered piles of trash. The rotting stench of flesh smears the air, it's difficult to breathe. I have yet to get used to the smell, or maybe, I am used to it but refuse to let it go. What ever the consequence of the smell may be, the air is not only rotten, but harsh. You must wear something over your face in order to obtain even a fraction of filtered air. If not, your lungs feel as if they are on fire. No one knows the cause of this massacre, not even the origin at which it started. Everything seemed normal, then one day, everything turned to chaos. After twenty-four hours the country was in mass hysteria. People were dropping dead, children were alone on the streets. Many watched as their parents suffered horrific deaths, at the hand of what ever caused this. Children appear to be more resistant to it than adults to whatever this ...