Micah Park Biffle

A Simple Letter To My Love  Dear future love, Who ever you may be, I pray for your safe passage. Not only to the finding of my heart, but to the struggles of life. Through all things that wish to bring harm upon you, before, during, and after me. For I know the devil has no place of rest. I will be the utmost spectacle of perfection for you. Even if that means having to watch the sappiest shows and dramas I may find sour to my eyes. I will hold doors open for you, not because you are weak. But because you deserve the graces of a gentleman. I will be but the sunrise when your heart is heavy. I will lift it from the swamps of anguish and condensate upon your heart like dew upon morning grass. Bringing nutrients to the veins of your soul as we hold each other in the tough times, and the simple times. I will laugh when you do something dumb, as I hope you will do to me. As we are humans, and laughter upon stupidity, is the best lesson to see that mistakes are curable....

Be As Does A Tree This is your moment, where you will guide yourself like that of a tree. You will remain still in your beliefs. Holding through all weather though you may feel brittle in the coldness. In the lonesome nights toward your happiness as does the tree in winter. That stands alone among all the rest. Be gentle in your thoughts as does the tree. Growing steady and never to linger too long at one height. Grow with patience as does the tree, never faltering to what those around it do. Never listening to the faults that the mind gossips to stunt your rise. Build armor among your soul through all the suffering as does a tree in its growth. Growing from sapling, innocent and silent, to an abundant beauty of awe. But steady does it grow, with vigor even through the harshest of storms. And with each passing day, a new layer of bark is laid. A new ring with each passing year. As reminders of its vicious but glorious past, that has made it what it is today. A reminder of ...

We Have Forgotten Our Warriors  No longer do we praise the warrior like that in the days of the knight. No longer do we sit by our bedside and pray for the warrior as he dawns his armor for war. No longer do we weep in the destruction of man and the blood that spills upon sands.  Too many preach of the warrior as if their existence is futile in the eyes of change. That bringing weapon against evil is no way to live. But they do not see the tyranny of evil, the cumbersome loses and poison they bring.  Too many have not felt the heat of war, the anger of evil.  Too many have not seen the vision of hell upon earth. The screaming, the dying, the forgotten. The innocent spent as mere pawns to keep a regime thriving like jungles beneath rain.  Too many have not seen the tears of families, wives, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, upon the death their warrior.  Few have felt the burden of the constant eye to stay alive. To wonder if th...

An Orphan Girl Who Found Her Soul  Sarah is but a newly adopted orphan.  Her parents had died in a car accident  when she was eight. She is sweet, beautiful, strong, but shy. Her hair golden, her eyes silky brown. Three years she was alone bouncing from one orphanage to the next. Being chosen from one foster family to the next, only to be let go because she did not listen well. Many families who took her in, found her lack of listening to be bothersome. Many of the foster parents found her lack of listening to be a possible mental deficiency, immediately wishing return. As if she is a defective product and needs to be tossed out. Strangely, she never cries, she has not cried since her parents died.  She is the kind of girl who would rather sit alone and stare out a window and dream of far of places. Rain is her favorite, there is something about the rhythm and sound of rain that catches her. Her new foster parents see how she enjoys staring into the world...

The Adventures of The Toughest Kid  Do not let your imagination go to waste James is a young boy, no older than 14, he is full of life and full of imagination. He never lets a day go by without an amazing adventure with his friends or even just himself. Adventures with Pirates, Vikings, or even Treasure Hunters. What ever the adventure be, James takes his imagination to the top. Exceeding any limits of the ordinary. He creates the most magnificent adventures anyone could dream. Adventures that can be treasured for years to come and still be as if it were told for the first time.  Adventures with monster that make the skin tingle with fright, or monsters that make you laugh from their foolish ways. James never leaves a single detail out. His imagination is endless, it's a wild ride that leaves any heart racing. James has never had a day where his imagination went to waste. Ghouls, ghosts, and zombies lurk behind every corner. Warriors with mighty strength stand hidde...

-Lost passion- Upon oak wood, a frozen glass. Clattering of ice like thoughts clashing in class. Eyes fixated to keys, withering mind like a useless mass. Nothing sprung, nothing sung, just emptiness rung like cars through an overpass. But fingers crawled across black stricken symbols, bold to create a thought into motion. Yet, thoughts never seem to last. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A mind is fickle as it battles the heart. A mere choice to sit or stand can change the mood of one's moment. As the mind says to sit, but the heart says to stand, to stand and overlook. To see it all like a king standing confident upon his castle's balcony. But overwhelmed is a consistency with the mind.  Never truly deciding, always eager for hiding. Just to decide where to place thoughts and express emotion from the mind to fingers to letters set with meaning. Sometimes this, this is the hardest strugg...

Rush, rush, rush, hurry, hurry, hurry. Our daily lives, so much in such short time. Jobs, errands, bills, relationships, assignment, due dates, dead deadlines. All this piles up and you're sweating from the stress. Everything feels like it will all come crumbling in. Your chest is suffocated with anxiety, your throat dry from the lack of hydration. Too busy to even notice you haven't ate all day. And for what? What is there to gain when busy is all you are and passion is lost? Imagination drain and action is used up on someone or something else. The eyes of a passerby and you think, "I bet they are having a better time than me." Its seems like when you catch up on one thing, its the next, exhausted by end day and you let that little voice. That tiny voice that tells you to relax, you listen to it. You relax, only to start everything all over again tomorrow. What is left when you have gave every hour to someone else, to something else? You think about w...

Our lips locked as the sun began to set. The air was warm against our skin as leaves were blown through the unseen winds. The stars scattered above us, sparkled with approval of our moment. Even the trees danced with the wind as our passion for each other clung to our hearts. I could feel every motion in my body sync with hers. Even our hearts played the perfect melody as our tongues twisted with taste for one another. Her body followed mine with each release of our lips. Our breaths, our moans were the conductor of our spirits.  Placing my hands on her cheeks I laced my fingers through her hair and pulled her from my lips. I looked at her with mesmerized eyes, she looked back with a smile so beautiful. It was like symphony of emotions playing in my heart. Paradise is what this moment was, life was truly in this, this moment was truly breath taking.  Nothing could be said about this moment, not even the view of the mountains colliding with stars and moon could c...

It's a cold night, fog covers the ground and headlights glimmer through the dewy mist. She walks the side of the road alone, with her child held tightly. Her body weak, her child cold, with tears of starvation flowing from the eyes. Car's pass by without a second thought. Many pass by with glaring eyes as they approach through the fog. Giving judgment as they see a woman with a child walking in the cold of the morning. Some honk and whistle, yelling out obscenities. The woman does her best to ignore the foul calls of strangers, doing all she can to keep her child warm. These are not the streets any woman should be walking alone. And if they are, it is for the purpose of business, a business of special clientele. As the woman continues to walk down the street a driver see's her as she appears from the fog. The driver slows down, tinted windows, a clean black body, and black rims swallow the car. The driver slows down enough to catch a look at the woman. The woman sees the ...

Nights were far from elated. Arguments were our forte, it was our nightly thing. Like reruns of your least favorite show, playing your least favorite episode over and over. Yea, that was us, every night for three months straight. Either I did something wrong or I didn't do enough. I can still feel the animosity clouding the house. Our arguments haunted the very walls of our home and engraved themselves our foundation. The heat from the arguments you could feel rise from floor just before the first words were shouted. Our home was a nightly battleground and I always left with my head cut from my shoulders.  See, I had been laid off from work for six months. Those six months I stayed home and cared for our child. At first it was great; my wife could work and she did not have to worry about me working late and having to watch our daughter for the rest of the night. Things seemed to fit well together then. But, after about the third month, I started to struggle and she could see t...