Micah Park Biffle

The Selfish in the Eternal "Forgive me, forgive me!" James cries out as she dissolves from his view like a ghost to the tales of a story. His tears, as sorrowed as the death of love. He reaches out as his steps become heavy, but she is too far and his heart is too heavy.  "Why do you say nothing, why leave me like this...whyyyyyy?!" He bellows as not even a breath is heard from her lungs. Her steps as subtle as a stroll against a lake. His eyes as wallowed as a raging ocean.  His body tumbles like stone shattering through a hollow earth. Everything around his becomes ruins, shrapnel of pain. "What have I done?" He says as tears collide against his hands. "What have I done?"  His knees compressed to the paved road. She, as distant as a star, so bright yet far from anyone's embrace. He is lost for words now as he begins to feel clutched by a cold gritty grasp. He lays knelt in his pain as a brisk breath falls upon him.  Wafting a...

   The Ugly Place   The trees are thick with tar, dripping from the smoldering breath of the crimson sun. The heat swells with moist humidity. Vapors of hot breath paste to the flesh like glue. While hands embrace feebly to tattered umbrellas to keep refuge from the goo of the lonely trees.  This ugly and forsaken place be the lands of Hollow Graves. An empty place where many lay but walk bare with nothing to say. Their lips crusted of pain, hydration is far from the soul. No rivers flow with water, only the blood of the dead.  The mountains bare no snow, only the flesh of those of womb. The sacrifices of the living, those who took what was not theirs. Snuffing the gift they were bestowed. Searching for a lasting escape from sufferings of the life. Only to find themselves torn with each repeating day.  Their flesh kissed by the mending lips of demons. Only to scream out to repent as the devils sly lips turn sharp. Lacerating the innocent skin, t...

A Weary Traveler and their Words    Where to travel with this weary heart? I take up my art of broken dreams the seamless lines of darkness crowding my vision into blankness. A shroud of shadows singing so proud the hallows of the empty hollow halls. The void of my heart, tearing the delicate parts.  Where to take this lonely heart? The mountains are cold, the valleys are low and my heart is even deeper. Sinking further into the distance, a star fading to existence as wolves prowl between the howls of the wind. A sin I live in, a torment of grief, of cascading pleads.  Hands bleed as a I hold this ax, cutting down trees. Making a home that shall fit me. But alone it is difficult and in time gives no residual. And alone these eyes see two perspectives. Two objectives of my miserable perception.  Joyful and dark, each with their own end, their own start. A stark terror of fear, rejection of joy, of a happy poise. As whispers of hopeful ploys, ladled i...

Today You Conquer Today, you stand before yourself like any other day. You stand before the reflection of your mistakes. The reflection of the scars that pronounce themselves as if they are all you shall ever be.  Today, you stand beside yourself, split down the middle. Yet intersecting with every moment, sadness and joy. Each fighting to warp the mind, each weaving between the neurons of your thoughts.  Coaxing you to fly or fall.   Today, you are your worst enemy and this day onward. Today, you face yourself unlike any other day. Today, those enemies that shake the walls your your heart, will be slain.   Today, you do not falter to the demons that spread lies with silver. Today, you do not sheath your sword in fear of death. Today, you are your sun, your moon, the stars, the galaxy of which you orbit and command.   Today, you are the voice of reason. Today you shall triumph, for today, though your heart feels as...

   Logan's Demons    Logan weeps as he watches it all burn. The smoke rising like death from a wintry rest. He cannot help but feel the world upon his chest. His eyes flooding beneath his feet, his hands wrapped upon his face like a mask.  But he cannot hide the misery that bellows from his sorrowed soul. He is alone, a solitude man with far fetched dreams. Reaching, falling, they slip through his fingers like light. Catching only the darkness that is left behind.  Even the birds that flutter about veer from his existence. They have abandoned all trees, all of natures touch. For Logan has breached the soils of earth with rotted roots. Piercing the once flourishing greens of his land.  But he is poisoned, poisoned by the ache of his heart. His eyes drivel with sorrow, sadness has sunk into his gut. Heavy be even the smallest breath. His flesh as pale as the dead, and like the dead, he feels no more.  He feels only the decay that has g...

    Digging your own Grave?   How eager your lips spill with contempt for any step you must take. Never forced to be as you are, yet you slither with slime, sulking in the suffering of your own making. Your eyes drivel with tears as if the world should feel pity.   Your back slouched in answer of your own lack of self confidence. You confine your sorrows in drinks or, the bitter taste of your sour tongue. Contorting words with jealousy as you waddle your way with billowed blame.   Your heavy heart rests at the bottom of your gut, like a forgotten memory, rotting. Stuck in a rut, your eyes fixed downward. Looking to your feet as you raise your hand to the sky with a finger of criticism of those that speak well.   You kneel as the soils beneath your frail bones become sullied in tears. No longer can it bear the standing pressure of your chiding thoughts. You must spread your weight upon your soft ground. Your foundation is uncertain. ...

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, ...

  Ascending Death    With fiery eyes I wake, aching bones and a creaking soul. A lonely moment but I breathe. I hear the voices, they speak. Their soft wisps of conclusion to who I should be. To what I should do. They trample about my head like beasts through jungles.   And in this lonely moment I rage to fight them though my heart be weak. Though the thunderous roars of my voice have become soft, I still stand. I climb this mountain though the plunge could be deadly. These quivering bones are not my enemy.  This drowning heart is not my weakness and this feverish mind is not mine. It has been taken and I shall reclaim it. I have traveled these forsaken roads long enough and my eyes can see. They burn the frozen herds of devils.  Their eyes following like eyes of cats. Keeping watch as I stumble through thickets, sands, glaciers, and worlds of ghastly pain. But I burn through their cold stare with fervor as the taste of life dangles at my tongue....

  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...

                                                                    Suicide Forest What you are about to read is an event I so dearly wish was a dream, but unfortunate it was an unfortunate event I unfolded upon myself.      I decided to travel to the suicide forest. Why, I am not sure and am still not sure. But something drew me too it. Picture after picture I studied with great detail. Examining every spec of each photo as if there was a clue to saving myself from a deathly illness.    Each body that hangs has a uniqueness, each their own sadness; grief. If you stare long enough you can almost feel their spirit weeping. It is as if they are still alive, trapped in the echoes of time. Atoms circling, but lost, corrupted in an early death.    Like the deletion of...

  A Fading Wound,  A Warrior's Death   Old, most just pass him by. An era past, forgotten and left behind. The world spins without patience, without delay. Time, a ever ending creation lasting beyond death. And he sits, alone, atop a park bench.   Carefully listening to the chirping of birds. The soft distant chatter of passersby, as he feels the echoes of his fading thoughts. Memories long held in horror, visions of massacre, of impending demise at the eyes of the enemy.   His grey hair, covered in an old black hat, labeled with golden words. Sorrow rolls about his heart like a tumbling stone to the splitting of earth. He remains the last of those he loves, those brothers he held dear, in time of crises, in time of peace.   Friends that felt as he did, friends that knew of his scars. They too shared such wounds, silent and those of the visible. Shadows of anguish shower his face, his sinking skin slowly reaching to earth. A grave be his ...

A Desert Wanderer  This desert, a paradise of the lost. A visual spectacle, a mind bending stage for the brilliant, the madness of the mind. Wandering with aimless hope as the chest dries of breath and lips crust with desert wind.   How strange this place be. A bland wonder of the earth where few live. Eyes looking onward to the dusting horizon as the sun sinks behind mounds of turbulent sand. Looking, with wild eyes as creatures of familiarity parade toward this frail conception of life. Yet they be foreign, exotic though they be of the familiar, I swear. Yet awkward form falls from them.   Long legs, like a spider, but only four. A snout to smell and large extended ears to hear. Protecting the canals from the storms of the desert. So high, with tusks that curve with polished ivory. Skin of leather hide with prickles of hair, like nettles.   But their legs, how odd, how wondrous, a magic trick maybe.....of the mind. For they never end, but only begin. A...

 A Pianist's Heart Argus is man with much sadness. He reaps silent tears behind his eyes with each grieving day. His heart is not bitter, but cold. It beats only to the music he plays during those nights of restless thoughts. Where everything coincides with his desperation to be heard.  His music lulls those who struggle severely with many illnesses of the mind. Argus has always been one to think, to contemplate the solution to the angst of the mind. Argus has spent much of his time studying his own behavior and those that he knows personally, which are few; and those he sees passing among the streets. Finding what he lacks by looking to those that have what he seeks.  As well as being a man of music. One day, through his own misery he stumbled upon a song that captured him. That held him so tightly in an emotional embrace, he almost wept dearly. A tear had escaped upon the ending of this song.  To feel a tear fall, was a miracle for Argus. For he had she...

Dismal be The Headless  It is dismal, this place. The walls have degraded with each passing day. I no longer feel it is my home. I feel my own skin wishing to retreat from my bones. I am alone in the empty space I call home. Settled with spiders, roaches, and more.  The floors are covered in the dreary existence of debt, of soul, heart, and wealth. I don't know, but I pray someone may come and help. But I am poorly suited for company. The least I can do is dust off this shelf.  Be presentable in at least a moment. For a moment I can hold it together. Keeps myself from fluttering away like a feather lost in wind. There must be a way I can step up and win. This place is riddled in filth.  I now walk on stilts. In fear of touching my own ground. Beneath this miserable pile of sludge, underneath it all, is my crown. But I gave it up long ago, I turned over my crown to the day I let myself down.  I could feel myself drown. As I flailed for my crown. Out...

Oliver and Company    Everything fell apart, everything. It all became a shamble of horrors, of mental disparity. Ghosts now cling to the walls, to the pictures, to the dusty cabinets that bare no food. No voices have spoken a single word within these walls in months.   Everything is gone, crumbled, vanished in an instant. Oliver is no longer whimsical in his thoughts, his heart, now a black hole. A cosmos of black space, a cold chamber of hate. He is now a friend among the cobwebs and spiders. He curls to the corners of his dark home and whispers as the infestation of madness infests.   His mind curtails any thoughts of joy. His bones poke from his flesh like fingers pressed to dough. He is mental in his own. A soul reaping of rotted stench and ugly woes. His mouth is foul with pity as he crawls on his hands and knees.  Mumbling nonsense beneath his breath. His teeth clattering to the frozen as winter proceeds to give him no warmth. He cries ou...