Micah Park Biffle

   Gorgkick The Coward   Gorkick, the infamous writer of historical literature, walks down our muddied roads with his embellished belly. He walks as if he were a pig on two legs. His over sized mustache tickles his lower lip. Causing him to constantly wiggle his mouth from irritation. They say he grew it to help hide his hideous smile.   But I say he grows it to feel more like a man. For he is cowardly in his approach to the world before him. Sadly, he is our only hope of change and freedom. But his cowarding approval of himself leaves him wavering to the whim of our iron fist leader.   His eyes sink into his fat face like marbles pressed into fresh clay. They linger about our surroundings as we watch him walk. Investigating our village with little scrutiny as soldiers stand erect with weapons in hand. Following him like watch dogs, panting at the sight of our impoverished presence.   I follow carefully from a short distance. Keeping my pres...

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 ...

The Blood of Ruling in Virtue  Unsatisfied he hungers for more. His thirst for it all reaches beyond the darkness we dare to even tease. He craves the feasting of his desires. He is vengeful in his wishes as he burns down the homes of others. Picking  pockets to supply the masses that follow behind with weary eyes bearing the hearts of sheep. Driveling with blood of exploitation upon his flesh as he drinks from his hands of rule. The weak bow before him and so he rises with hate. He embellishes his care for his people. Acting in a shroud of fraud as he waves his shepherds staff. He clouds his intentions with silver words. Never seen among his people. He orchestrates lies in the filth to demonize the populous of the wealthy, of the working. Only paying homage to the struggling, the poor. Teething with a tongue of envy, of greed. He slaughters those that plot against him or deny his murderous law. He speaks from the violent mouth of malice as his grudge of the world f...