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, ...

 Sophia's Love    "Let your umbrella unfold, dance beneath the rain when others won't shelter you with the echoes of love my dear." Her mother said as she kissed her upon the forehead.   Sophia looking up at her mother smiles as she holds her pink umbrella above her head. Her mother, raising up from the kiss takes Sophia by the hand and they begin to walk. Sophia, only five and her father off on a business trip, her mother becomes lonely.   And so they walk, they walk through evenings, mornings, dusk's and dawns. Watching the graceful colors of sunsets and sunrises. Sophia's mother teach's her to admire the colors before them. Not just the wonderful vibrant colors, but also the dull. The gloomy streaks of darkness.   For everything has a purpose in this world. From the thunder storms to clear skies. Sophia, holding her mother's hands as they walk through the rain looks and up and asks, "Mother, why do you cry? Do the colors of this clo...

  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...

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...

The Narrow Walls to The Heart  I open up the door and before me stands a giant wall, roughly three-hundred feet tall. Pearl white, smooth like ivory keys of a grand piano. No cracks, no blemishes, just a wall of solid white. I approach with a curious heart. Nearing the wall, a door appears, a red door, only a few inches taller than me. It holds a golden knob with no key hole. With my world as it is, I see no caution not to open it. Everything at this point feels hopeless. My heart feels trapped and I see no end to my suffering. My ribs feel constricted upon my heart and my breathing has become shallow. So, I do what any desperate soul would do, I open the the door. As I do, a bright light shines for a moment. I can't see at first, but I adjust. I step through and there, in front of me is another wall. Another large standing wall, only ten feet from me. No door appears like the first, I immediately turn around to return to the first door, but it has vanished. I am star...

Lift Yourself From Drowning  Sometimes, our world can become heavy. It can feel as if stones are chained to our ankles as we desperately struggle to swim to the surface. Our lungs become shallow, our breaths automated by stress, by fear. Repetition of hours click by like droplets of water as they fall upon our heads. We look to time, only to see four more hours of rigorous monotony left, before we are allowed the breaching of only our nose to the surface. Ending days in the cries of tears or in the silence of melancholy. Feeling dull, as if a forgotten antique taken by dust. Worthy of only a glimpse as we feel ourselves to be no more worth than what we receive after two weeks. We collapse to the mundane, to the emptiness and shroud ourselves in temporary bliss. Coating our hearts in drinks, screens, and other pleasures of flesh. Only to wake in a shroud of numb echoes of bitterness, as the hours tick by before we must plunge our nose back to the depth of the ocean. Hold...

A Man's Traveled Heart My Words Of Christmas The first snow, the bleaching of soil with gentle flakes. The swirling of rich aromas drift in the season of this moment. Music flourishes to the design of today. Memories float like the falling of snow, but sticking like a taste. Forgotten, but only till one comes upon it again. Smiles, cheerful sentiments, the ever sentimental decorating of it all. The thumping of young hearts rushing through homes. Splurging in the imagination of what has been given. As the matured converse in the fond memories of it. Laughing in the taste of spirits, the embracing of today. Chest nuts roast in complimentary trace of eggnog and roast. As laughter dances in the exhaustion of voice. But no memory becomes forgotten in this day. The sun shines in a gentle tone behind the powered sky. The breath of winter settles briskly upon nature as birds chirp in the silence of the cold. Nature, settled in white, brings a whole new life. Caked with thoug...