Micah Park Biffle

  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 Painters  Tragedy   Mia was an "outcast,"  an individual of different ideas and perception of life. She wore clothes that never accentuated her figure. Most were dark, baggy, and plain. She never took time to draw attention to herself. Yet attention would find her, laughter from the snarky jocks would round themselves about her.   Prodding fun of her looks, her choice of clothing and how she spoke. She spoke shyly, stuttering with unprecedented anxiety. Her eyes would dart wildly as tears would silently fall during the pressures of unwanted attention.  Their laughter would echo throughout the day in her head. Over and over she would replay the horrible moments between her and the rude abilities of bullies. Every morning she would do her best to dart to her classroom.  Scrunching herself into the smallest shape possible while hugging her books tightly. But not matter how small she made herself, no matter how dark of clothes she wore, even...

 Stop Chasing That Rabbit!  When the rabbit gets away and you are now lost. Spinning in circles without any knowledge of where it could be. When the rabbit is just out of grasp and you feel the success of capture at your fingertips but it eludes you.  When everything feels to be in place, but the next day all is lost once again. And you forgot to call that one person for that one thing. Now you are scrambling to fix the situation. You're looking for what went wrong, why did you forget?  Then, you see that rabbit run by. You try again, to capture it, but again, it escapes your attempt to catch it. Again you are lost in a twirl of failure or a light touch of exhaustion, allowing it to roam free.  All through life, you are running around trying to keep the rabbit in the cage. To keep things in line and even the most repetitious things at one point slip your mind. Maybe you are overwhelmed maybe, you are doing so well things you thought were important sl...

Do you Live on Exacts?  Today I had a thought, something that really struck my thinking. We are constantly in the vortex of what we think should happen. We often disappoint ourselves because things did not go our way or were somehow taken from us.  We look to things in the world as exacts. We see colors right, we see blue or white. We know one hundred percent what color they are. We see a building, we know it is a building. We pick up a book, we know there is a beginning and an end.  There are boundless exacts in our world, in the physical world that is. But there are no exacts in our lives, in our actions, in the daily process of every second. We can plan way ahead, we can take every precaution possible. To gain the results we want.  But no matter what we do, we may not get the exact results. We often place the expectation of ourselves and others as exacts. We often set ourselves up for constant disappointment and failure. Failure in the sense that we d...

 His Painted Soul  He was worn from his constant need to pull through the day. To stay awake in thought with every second. His chest beard heavy and his eyes could see no hope. He could feel his world around him shrink.  Colors that were once vivid are now dull. They settle upon his view like rain, casting streaks of sadness upon his eyes. He feels nothing but sorrow speak with his burdens. Lost for so long, so tired, so anxious to be free.  He finally decided a enough was enough. He took his heart, pulled it from his chest and placed it in a bucket. He then took his pain, his misery and did the same. He poured as many tears as he could into the bucket.  He took every memory, happy and sad, and mixed it in with the rest. He took everything he had inside himself, placed it in the tin bucket and started to mix it. While he mixed it he could hear himself, he could hear memories calling out.  He could hear his pain crying, he could feel ...

The Woman in Black  She held her hand to the flame. Watching as her flesh became a dripping candle of agony. She screamed with pain but gave no sign of stopping. I heard her screams as I was walking through the woods. Trying to find peace in my own head. Hearing her screams I stopped, adjusted my focus toward the focal point of her voice. I ran to her, I could see her after a only a few moments of running. She was there, at a fire, wearing nothing but a black dress and a dark veil over face. Bloodied misery fell from her lips like moonlight. I rushed to her, telling her to stop. But she gave me no sign of my existence. It was as if nothing else was around. Once I reached her she vanished into thin air. I fell, stumbling over where she should have been. I fell through the air crashing onto the forest floor. I stood up with confusion. As I did, I heard her screams again. I rushed to her again. Finding her in the same position, screaming, watching her own flesh melt from h...

 Life Is Life is, a beautiful sunset. Life is a sunrise cresting over an ebbing tide. Flooding the once hidden sands to be seen by our delicate eyes. Life is waking with a smile, finding reason to rise even during the storms. Life is a gift, and we must spend it, share it wisely.  Life is our only life, life is the silent moments with those we love. The moments we jump into puddles of laughter and wet our souls with a loving appetite. Life is our beating heart, the blood rushing through our veins without a thought.  Life is, complicated, but only if you make it so. Life is, do able, but only if you work it to be. Life is an opportunity, one against ten to the two-million-six-hundred and eighty-five-thousandth power. That is a chance of almost zero.  Life is, a miracle, a chance to be what no other creature can be, you, and what ever dreams you wish to build. Life is, creativity, creating yourself: learning, trying, doing, failing, and getting back up. Lif...

These Marshes Bring no Peace  I thought I was safe here, far from everyone and everything I know. I am alone, I cast myself from the horrid reaches of memories. Crowded between marshes and rivers, a place only I know of. Yet, here I am, shrouded in stress, in misery.  But I have all things I need. I have my home, food, water, and shelter. I have peace, I have the silence of the night so that I may think. Yet, I am still haunted, haunted by visions of what was. Mistakes streak my dreams like a filth covered window of neglect.  I hear voices of former loves whisper in the soft silence of nature. The frogs belch of memories, calling out names, out agony. The crickets, rubbing their legs together spread shadows of doubt upon myself during the humid heat of the night.  I have no mirrors in my home. Why? For I feel a reflection of myself will only drag me back to what I miss. I dare not even look to the waters of the marsh except in the night. For there is not ...

The Perfect Beauty   She is perfect, built from the gods and birthed from the pearl of Poseidon. She is everything any man any god would want, would crave. Upon her birth she already stands among the gods as something extraordinary.  Her locks of red hair sway like flowers to ever soothing currents of the sea. Her skin, like the white pearl of the womb she broke from. Her face, perfectly spaced from great admiration of her father, no mistake was given.  She walks the earth in perfection. Each step she takes, beautiful flowers bloom, birds sing, and the world stares in awe. She resembles what all Beings of any life wish to be. Never silent, she always finds reason to speak.  If she be not speaking, you can find her singing. She walks the many cities of the world with absolute confidence. But as time progresses she still holds no hand for marriage. Yet, she continues to stride herself with grace and perfection.  Every city displays a statue of he...

The Forgotten Many, 1865  We are often forgotten, many of us forced from the memories of our loved ones and the ever spinning earth. We were once breathing fathers and sons but now we lay silent beneath the soils. Quietly whispering through the trees, the brush, and all oceans of our coasts.  Caressing the hearts of those that walk among us. Silent we may be, but as a whole, we are never truly forgotten. Merely, we lack importance to many as time spans further. We become pictures with faces but no names. We become a corpse marked in an endless counting.  Our families become new, losing their roots as they forget or misplace us in their hearts. We stood face to face with our brothers and called them our enemies. Sons died by their fathers and fathers by their fathers.  Hell found home among our wicked needs. Curating a slow brew of chaos to swell our flesh. We became cross eyed to the vision of our lands. Many fought with no wish to be, while others fought...

Math Ain't So Bad; Maybe it's God? Where does time flow? Beneath our feet, in the depth of our lungs? oh, I know, in the creation of math! Damn you math, your intricacies of design. To turn theory into reality and something that does not exist into something we all obey. How I dread the application of your existence. You never allow open answers, only direct. An honest approach you could say; never hiding a lie nor truth. Allowing things to be exact, calling out mistakes of theories. Even those that had once stood the test of time. Oh, how irritable that must be; to have slayed away to create an idea of science so grand, it seemed impossible to disprove. Only to have math coming walking by in its top hat and call out your flaw. Disapproval is painful, but at least math won't leave you heart broken. Holding lies and sticking by your side only to find out it has been cheating on you with music. Oh wait, there is math in that too, damn. Is there anything you ...

The Chapters We Fear  He sits looking to the pages before him, the ones he wrote. Turning each page with hesitation as a grim feel of grief taints his face. His eyes looking leery of what he shall read. For he knows the words that have tied themselves to these chapters. Peeling each page back with reserve but in the intent to understand. His heart drops in a constant revolution upon the turning of pages; fleeting to the boules of his gut. Moon light shimmers along side the welcoming of modest flames, it flares a shadow upon his wall. He looks to his flickering silhouette that fears the moon and candle light. It contorts with a sight of misery compelled by the wish to retreat. Snarling at the visage of what he is. He ignores the aggravating wishes of his shadow. He continues to turn the tears and blood stained pages. This book is no mere read for the weak nor the lackadaisical. It is the exact reflection of himself, of everything he has done. It is a book no man wis...

Choking On The Repressed  The door swings open, a ghastly wind rushes into the room. It takes hold his throat, he begins to choke; he struggles to his feet. Grasping at his throat his eyes strung wide he finds no passage to inhale. The candles lit upon his mantel fall. They catch fire to his antique rug. Suddenly the windows that overlook the valley lift open. More wind fills the grim space. The flames rise higher with the rushing presence of air. He continues to stumble around the room gasping for relief. The more he fights, the closer he feels at the foot of death. Visions begin to emerge, all those before him manifest from the raging flames and the dancing smoke. Voices eclipse his thoughts, darkness overwhelms his senses. A cold yet warmth gathers at his chest. He's sees a figure standing above him looking down as he falls upon his back begging for assistance. But the figure does nothing to repress the violent strangle that holds. His vision starts to blur, sweat ...

A Bitter Mans Reminder I peer my weary head from the stables of my thoughts. Thinking of the mess that I have created within. As I think, I turn my sorrowed eyes toward my window. Looking through it, I see the sunrise gently cresting over the horizon. But all I can see is a smear of colors, oranges, blues, reds and earth tones. Muddley separated like oils to a puddle. I squint my eyes to focus deeper into the present beauty that births itself to this morning. But like myself, my window is stained, unkempt with grim and grease. I feel myself become sightly disdained to my current status. So like any, whom become uncomfortable in themselves. I lean to the opposite side of my bed and pour myself a warm settled glass of bourbon. A slosh of bourbon escapes from my glass as my hands quiver. I grunt, with no desire to clean my accident. I raise the glass to my lips and stare at the still ever existing hues of light. A small smile escapes me, but it is quickly taken by sadness. Be...

Depression Tips Its Hat Here I am, in a strange world, a place untouched by me. My thoughts squander on the edge of lonely. Soaking up the this odd air around me. My heart feeble in its rhythm, depression walks in, tipping its hat with a smile. I grin, as I know him well, but never wish him to stay. He sits now, at the foot of my soul, waiting, just for that inch. That unprotected second I fall to his dull whimsical show. Playing lullabies I thought were laid to rest long ago. But this place, this strange place untouched by me. Reeks of the familiar, reeks of left over crumbs of my suffering. And I try, I try, I swear I am trying. Keeping the hunger at bay, the hunger to envelope this appetite to crumble. To set fire what minutes ago was happiness. What a gallant smile stretched across my face in excitement just moments ago. But somewhere, somehow, from there to here. It disappeared, it became a ghost to my presence. No, leave me be, I say, as depression tries to worm its...

A Corpse To My Soul  I don't know where to take this. This corpse of mine that drags at my feet. It holds at my ankles with much desperation though it is dead. I can smell its stench with each fading second, but I have become null to it. Its grip, hollow, but somehow clings to me as if I am a God. And I hear it pray behind its rotted teeth that I will raise it from death. I try to ignore its spoiled flesh, its barren voice. But I am drawn to it when the world becomes a haven for burdens. I listen to it with regretful intent. And when I listen, the hills before me, grow that much higher. I become a thimble of a man, pressed heavily with anguish. With the constant battle of what is no longer, as I clasp with aspiration to create what will be. And this corpse, in its moments of declaration for wishing existence once again. I rage in my voice that it will shut up. That it will release itself from my ankles and let me walk in peace. But in just the moments I stop. Wher...

Give your soul nourishment Read  A Man's Traveled A Chasm Of A Heart The chasm of the heart runs deep, deep in a broken soul. It hollows the veins of the heart like the halls of an abandoned cathedral. The wind whispers where blood once flowed, it whispers with a doleful voice. Carrying what blood is left like the fallen flakes of flesh to a passing breeze. It beats with no reason but to keep one living. It feels with anger, with sadness, drowning hope in tears. Suffocating what breath of life is left inside. Its coldness creates a bitter tone, it carries  a distasteful flavor upon the beating of the heart. It gives no solace in the emptiness it bears. This chasm is a mournful place. It poisons the soul with each day it grows. Voiding all life that clings to the walls of the heart. As ones soul pleads for forgiveness in self. Delicate becomes the heart, becomes the soul. Bruised in ego and spirit, shrinking like a puddle to a rising sun. Feeling no warmth in the d...

She Wears A Heavy Mask She wears a mask upon her face, she blends to the crowd. Fading like white paint upon a white wall. Alone, inside her head she speaks of wondrous things. Of places that do not exist but in her heart. But dare she speak of such things or shall she be casted from the crowd. Ridiculed for her ridiculous words. She is no fool to the agony of rejection, she knows it well. And in this tormented chest of hers, she finds escape in the lining of her imagination. Crossing lines of great architecture of the mind. Creating whimsical stories that glare with such might.  Alone, in her mind she is the queen, the king, the soldier, the creator. She bears all powers to make what she will. And in this mind of hers, she wears no mask. She is the red rose among a rotten field.  She is the brightest star among the darkest nights. Her eyes twinkle with excitement as she laces her fingers through the lush fields of her heart. Leaving no inch of it unknow...

An Average Man, For The Extraordinary  An average man striving for an extraordinary life.  All he wants is to leave behind the mundane struggles one has in the pains of life. To not have to look over his shoulder from the stresses of bills. Never having to worry if his transportation will get him to his destination. Never having to listen to the sounds of his engine as if death could be bearing down upon it.  The simplistic troubles of life add to a heavy burden. Turning one from a smile, to a drudging frown through the thickets of hell. This man, is only looking to be extraordinary in his mind, to find himself becoming to his world. To be free of the ill thoughts of struggle. Feeling taut between the choice to push further, or fall to that which presses back.  Falling back to the ways of forgetting all things great. To consume the spirits of man and drink silly, till all burdens seem lost. Thinking this though, is not what he wants. He wants to b...

Don't forget a copy of my book A Man's Traveled Heart Thoughts Will Bring Pain  Tap tap, do you hear that? The tapping of thoughts, the eagerness for them to flow. To break the walls from your broken heart and become full. To escape the meddling of their existence.  Stifled in their exuberance for far too long. They wish to be heard, to be felt, to be open to the world that some wish never to breathe.  But that I say, is because those are the ones, who contract their dreams to size of their nails. To listen with anxious appeal, never to dig them from the ground. To leave them behind the walls of fear. Only to have them tickle the senses of life, from time to time. To have them whisper like frightened children from the torment of monsters beneath their bed.  Thoughts bring much joy and much pain, but one who traps them like foul rodents. Will never find them to be joyous. They will only pout with black tongues and tears of tar. Sticking to a na...