Micah Park Biffle

  Step Out! Out, Out from the gloom, The obscure breath of doubt Take stone, break thy yoke, Let trouble fall, let shoulders be lifted, Flow, to the heavens Be but strain no more, Open wide, thy mouth, Let prayer fill thy tongue Be parched no more. Stillness in heart  Though seas roar like lions, And beast snarl among mist, Step,  Out! To mercy of life, Ease, be reborn. Let no shackle of past Be meaning for tear Take hammer,  Fracture the cumbersome Be feet of swift Fill your days with strides, Though dunes widen And heat scorches thy soles. Out, Step out from thy fear, There is another to call To breach, To reach your heart  Though thee be of man, Let not thy eyes of flesh Be the dealings of truth, Wander, In aspect to be whole Be not the coward hidden in cave, A creature curled  Like frightened doe, For he walks beside thee, Like king among his men, A sword of greatness Sways from his belt, Ready, To swing against thy enemies, A presence more bold  T...

 A Wanderer  Guitar in hand and nowhere to go. This dusty road is barren and the sun is high. My body aches to rest but I am a wanderer of my music. I am in search of my muse, the siren that will call me. Leading me to my death, but not before exposing me bare to the wonders that hide within me.   My feet are sore, my boots are wearing thin. My beard is holding this dusty air and my throat is parched. It has been three days and I know not which way I should walk. Each path has appeared similar, dark, dusty, and desolate.   There have been no signs, no lights to signal a turn, a stop, or a cautious disposition. What have I done? Am I but another poor musician taken to the madness of his music? Never to find the glory that will give breath, life to my words, my songs?   Wait, what is that, that in the distance, between the waving waves of heat and the gritty plumes of dust? I see a light, a beaming light of red  in the distance. It is faint, but ...

  A Murder over Invention  Samuel Thride is a man of secrecy. His presence, when among him, is quite audacious. What he does for a living no one knows. He lives atop Manor Hill, where his mansion sits highest above the neighboring homes.   Many have met him, but they are often met with reservation, rudeness some say, or complete denial of their existence. Some say he is this way because he thinks too highly of himself and no other deserves his attention. While others think he is malnourished in the department of social interaction. Some even believe he may be so intelligent, he has a tough time explaining his joys of possibly complex theories, rather, dumbing them down.   They say he would much rather talk of the world, its history, science, math, and any theories that tie into these categories. He is a tall slender man with disheveled hair that is increasingly thinning by the passing years.   His eyes swaddled in a dark complexion as rest does ...

 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...

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 ...

A Love Gone, A Heart Taken She feels as if she is alone in everything. As if her heart is but a lonely pearl at the bottom of the sea. Beneath the sands in the deepest of oceans. Darkness fills a void in her chest, shadowy creatures plunge deep into her soul and scatter like roaches. Finding any crevice to hide within. Only to be scene in the shadows by their thimble sized eyes in the reflection of the moonlight. As her eyes are still to the motion of the world. Alone she sits, as music plays delicately between the silence of her slow beating heart. A heart that beats in sadness, hollow drums march in sluggish rhythm. She finds the world to have taken what she once was. But now, a foolish fool she feels as her eyes set upon a pale ring wrapped around her finger. Betrayal of the highest has crushed her existence, blinding her of her once sweet smile. And as she sits with a heavy heart as thunder breaks the sky and rain washes the earth. She thinks to herself, "...

Evil Will Always Breathe Evil exists beyond our comprehension, it exists as feelings do, as love does. No measurement, no math can explain these things. Evil is sly with motives, filthed with no shame. Its heart engorged in blood lust, in anger, evil has no reason. As does the existence of smiles, there is the opposite. As does the existence love, there is the counter. Evil has no conformed form. It lives within the splice of the physical, of the spiritual. It drips upon those whom swallowed sorrow like a pill. With each drip slowly rusting the soul like metal to harsh rain. Till the soul can move no more, till it becomes particles of what it once was. left rusted with holes and bland in color, its once exuberant essence, now absent. Taken by the shrewdness of evil and evil cannot be explained and never should be. For the explanation of that which is intangible, will drive one to madness. Losing sense of faith, belief, and the strive for something beyond. Turning blind...

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...