Micah Park Biffle

Facing The Ghosts  The breeze on this summers eve is delightful. The moon crests just at the edge of my eyes. Reflecting off the tears of clouds as I stand at the end of the pier. I listen to the trickling of rain as it batters the wood framing of the pier.  The rain brings no cold chill as the air comforts the falling droplets with warmth upon their decent. Everything is perfect, the voice of nature warms my heart. Much as been cumbersome these past days, I stand here in my suit from a days work. An expensive suit I might add. Most would find it foolish to stand beneath the rain near the salted waters. "It will only ruin the suit" they would say.  But as my days have grown so have I. Returning from the war and trying to assimilate back into the world, has not been easy. Europe was hell and Germany was giving us no moment of breath. Many of my friends died before my eyes.  For much of my time home, everything crashed upon me like a tidal wave. Much like...

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 ...