Micah Park Biffle

 A Miserable Rhyme     This vastness how it frees the soul. The open plains and seas, carried by a beautiful breeze. One should weep at such beauty. But we are often taken by our own pity. Our eyes shut to what we should truly see.   We bear the ability, to be free, which may be a burden that breaks the mind with ease. If not taken for what we should be. Often buried to flee, beneath the shallow graves of our misery. But mountains scrap the skies, oceans hugs the shore but neither holds envy.   Yet we see another, and our eyes skew so angry, so cocky. For another has what we think is our bounty. And instead of reaching, gaining what we wish with hard work and glee. We tilt the bottle and pour ourselves some brandy. Muddling our hearts. Creating our vision to be cloudy.   Shrouding our soul till our body becomes too heavy. We fall to dark empty allies, searching for bitter pieces we can blame. Building an army of boozy pleads in an explo...

 A Servant Heart No more I cannot tell you what shall come of me, I am no god no titan. I bare no vision of my future. I am merely a man, a human. A straggling piece of flesh left by god. A possible scab flicked from his heart. Flung to the surface of earth in either affection or the sheer pleasure to see what can be molded of such.  I speak as any other speaks, from my throat. My tongue, its guide and my lips its companion. I walk as any other, upon my feet that bare toes for balance. I see as any other, from the interpretation of my brain.  I am no different than any other who stands upon this earth. We all carry hearts, minds, and imagination. But few I believe give themselves possession of their heart. Giving it only direction in the name of others. Following with idle eyes and lips that drool with obsession to please.  Groveling for devotion though they give none to themselves. Lingering in the shadows peering with feeble hands as they call out for d...

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...

What Must I do? What shall I do to appease the crowd? What words must I fling from my lips to caress your soul? Should I write of love? What of misery and torment? Will the depiction of shadows infesting a lonely heart suffice?  Must I not touch the politics of the world or may I, but I am not of the side you desire? Does what I write bore the mind? Are my stories too bleak, do they not bring enough happiness? Are my words too bitter, too painful? Do my thoughts not consume the very air you breath? Must I break character and fall inline?  Or is what I write done well that most fear of what I write? Are my words, my thoughts too heavy for the average heart? Am I to shrouded in my words?  Should I write more clearly more precise in my endings and my beginnings? Does my grammar cause your eyes to cringe? What must I be, what must I do for you, for all?  For I feel the lack of interest build as I build my collection of stories. I can see the lethargic c...

Do you Water your Seed?    Plant a seed in the heart, a seed of good intention. Each day, water that seed. Water it with good intention. Whether that intention be a smile to a stranger. A hug with a friend or a burst of laughter shared or in the presence of self.   But good intentions are not without struggle. For often in our road of healthy intentions comes distractions. We forget our intentions for the day, in the moment we are flooded with rain or are in a drought.   But here is thing, we control our weather. We control how these storms flood us or how these deserts dry out our hearts. We are the gods of our stars, our skies. What we wish to see in our stars and feel in our storms, is our choice.   As much as it is a choice to listen to music or watch a movie. Some, must fight harder, some are in constant waves of dreadful pain. Some are held to the grips of depression and some are held to manic swings.   But in my days and in my meetin...

 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 ...

 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...

Self Medicating   She hears the shrills of her mind cry with seething agony. The world feels of lonely burdens and recluse feelings. Leaving her numb to the expectation of self. Her skin pulls taught at each moment of breath.  A ceiling of falling emotions cloud her heart. Her eyes pale to the moonlight. She is quiet in her words but loud in her head. She walks with a smile upon her face as she knows it is fake. Popping pills to feel okay. Listening to music to drown out the pain but nothing keeps her in frame.  She buckles the moment she is home from work. Her house in shambles from neglect as faces of sadness seep from the walls. Tears fall, but no relief is given as her pillow is her only companion to console.  She knows her heart is bitter in the lonesome wails of her past. But so bruised, so scarred, she is held by rigid fear. Her own family she has distanced as the pain is only thing she knows. Her face, in a perpetual drama of shame, of gui...

Where the Mind Quits  This is where the mind quits and the heart ticks. Where everything is on the line and life becomes a burden with just one misstep. Either follow the mind and walk into the abyss, close your eyes and rest. Or this, this is where you take in a deep breath, fill your chest and do your best. Where the rest will look to you as if you are full of it. As if your gestures of dedication are worthless. A futile attempt to act as if you are something else. But you take every moment as if it is your last. You spring forth from the exhaustion that requests your tired eyes to surrender. To create a blur of what could be better, what could become your bender of after. You ignite a fire and follow the ember of your boiler. Where you toss the old, the lies, the temptations, and live as if you are going to die. You no longer live in between the lines, but have chosen where you shall stand. You are a breather of the brighter. A bringer of the hour, a conqueror, but...

A River Bed of Clarity  What is the point he thought, as he tossed another stone into the river? An edged anxiety trickles at his throat. His hair skewed from his late night thoughts, rest is no longer part of his appetite. He reeks of anguish and sorrow, his eyes pulled by the gravity of loneliness.  He decides to sit upon the river bank, clasping his hands to his knees. A slight rocking of his body takes hold of him as his heart quivers. A subtle fog creeps from the woods across the way. He watches it unfold from the base of the trees, it falls to the body of water.  He looks at it with a familiar feeling, he starts to think aloud, "Alone, like this fog, drifting to the cold banks of water, escaping the foot of darkness, finding open space so that I may drift up toward the sky and disappear. This, this is how I feel, I am sinking and hoping for something to lift me."  He pauses the motion of his body, picks up another rock and tosses it into the river....

I Found The Devil in My Heart I have death on my mind, as I am sure many do; but why? Why do some of us adhere to the feeling of death more than others? Death seems to follow me like a sour taste upon my tongue. I feel it, taste and I can't ignore it. I have no true desire to call upon death early. Nor do I wish it to find anyone I love. But there are those moment, when a cloud sinks upon my chest and I feel heavy. That is when death is most apparent, most prominent in my eyes. Its quiet voice, softly stranding along the angles of my heart. Caressing with a strange comfort of peace, asking me to walk with it. A couple years ago, I would have listened. I would have poured us drinks and conversed till everything felt miserable and useless. Till death sounded like an answer for everything. We are all going to die, so what is the point in going on? Many times I would ask death that question. But I would get no answer back, only a lull of silence and a grin upon death...

Your Dream, Fight For it  Do not run from your dreams no matter what. Do not, do not.....become the pale victim of others thoughts. Don't fall to their testing of your weakness, the bitter cold is what they feel. They only wish the same for you. But I warn you, when you reach your dream, that is when the true test of you comes into play. For getting to the dream is a struggle, but to maintain it, keep it. Is even more difficult than building it. For even a skyscraper when built, can fall to the opening of the earth. You must hold your dream as you hold your heart, protected beneath the foundation of your love. Of the ribs that bear protection against ailments. Yet, open, beating, feeling, giving to the world a piece of you. Sharing your dream so that others may see it.  So that others may understand they too can achieve such goals.  Maintain your dream, work on it daily, hourly. With every thought you must manifest it as if it's falling away. That y...

I am No Doctor of Your Soul I don't see any end to this unexcited down pour of your so called tears of misery. For if I remember correctly you spoke of change. Yet here you are, hanging on the tail of my coat. Begging me to comfort your tender soul. Knowing well of what my heart feels of you. What sickly ego you must bear, willing to reach to me in your time of need. Though this be a familiar need, with a familiar problem. A problem I cannot console even if you handed me the key. No, I do not wish to ignore you, but it must be done. For your soul is not the only soul between us. Mine stretches with both arms. Expanding in the desire to be a part of yours. But I have grown to know this is a fools errand. It cannot be done, for your soul reaches to no one. I now hear the fiddle that plays from the roof of your heart, and I hear the rhythm of the devil flows from it. I don't wish to condemn you to your misery, but it seems you are not exhausted of it. I fear it has beco...

Unopened Letters  He struck up a match and lit the candle that sat upon his desk. Upon the candles embrace of the flame he blew out the match and watched the smoke fade. His face shifted in the dancing light, one might say it skewed the truth. He then looked around his small cottage and began to check the doors and windows; ensuring they are sealed shut. His walk is slightly subdued by his lame leg. Injured from an harrowing event; but he dares speak of it. He prefers the ever echoing silence of the memory. Never giving more than a glimpse to others to ignore his disabled leg. After checking his very limited perimeter he walks over to his fire place. He leans over a small pile of logs as he adjusts his leg to adhere to his desired posture. He then grabs a log in one hand and chucks it into the middle of the fire place. He then reaches for another and another, he then alters their position. Allowing them to be more feasible to the igniting of flames. Once the logs are s...

In The Dark of The Forest  I found her among the woods, where the light never hits. Her hair as golden as the sun, eyes of turquoise, lips of a delicate pink and her skin, the milk of a star. I could not believe my eyes, someone so beautiful hidden away in the darkest of places. Where the trees stand a thousand feet tall and their roots digging to the earths core. Where the most ferocious of creatures slumber; dragons. It's a place where goblins roam like ants, making tunnels just beneath your feet. A place where water flows in all directions except to the oceans. It's a magical place, but a magic of darkness. Voices whisper with no reason but to torment even those of its home. Such magic coils deep in the heart of us all, but is never awakened unless one travels to these parts. Though dangerous, I had to travel here; for I knew grace lives beneath these giant trees. In my search I knew I would not fail. For in my journey I could always hear the faint strumming of...

A Darkly Romance She wanted a love that was tried and true, but the script read to her. Was a script of broken strings and bloody hearts. A vigorous sculpting of ruins, a burning village of sorrow. Her tears could never suffice in the suffocation of flames. For a pheromone crown of misery plagued the lining of her thoughts. Her soul, never blissfully cradled in the lips of serenity. Her head upon her pillow was the closest to peace she would ever get. She wore scars upon her flesh from the empty and greatly articulated voices of shadows. Tasting her embroiled dictation of self. Which lacked any palpable succulence of flavor. She was beauty lost in chaos, taken up by the unhealthy and wild madness of despair. Painting pictures of rejection upon her dark encrusted walls. Scarred in the screams of what would never be heard. Her pride consulting her in thought as the ego laid waste to any hope. An unkempt heart bled her of countless devotions. Her lips sewn by her own hands a...

Cradle This  Cradle this, What ever it may be to you, hold it. Let its fire rise like the flames of a burning forest. Allow new sediment to settle. To bring new life from the old and propel the dead from the soil. Allow new leaves to breathe and roots to sprout new roses. Let the petals expand into an expanse of endless thought. Where journeys are bountiful and all is encouraged in growth. Being not tempted by the swaying tentacles of the damned. As they are portrayed in the depths of sea by delicate light. Many are driven to their luxurious beauty. Only to find themselves bound to their poison, falling ill in spirit. Calling out woes at the most minuscule of disruption. What ever this may be to you, embrace it. Let yourself dance in its glory, for it is a miracle. For too often we are seamlessly pursuing the perversion of what lies at our feet. Turning our heads to the immediate, while flowers reach out to the far. Stretching to what they shall never have, only to...

To Those With Depression To those that are depressed, I bring you these words and hope they fill the belly of your soul and nourish your heart, Today, may be tougher than the former or maybe not. Maybe, today is like any other day, you struggling  to remove yourself from your bed is but a wishful feat and nothing more. As you are coiled in the monotony of sadness that seeps from you like foul breath; from a desperate evening of melancholy. Maybe, the mere action to place a smile upon your face may feel like lifting the world from your chest. I know these feelings well, I know them as well as I know the color of my eyes. I know when even a sunrise is no more joyful than a slaved day at work. When the world is pressing you into the unimaginable sinking of despair. Where the air is thin but anxious thoughts a rabid. Where colors fade and all you see is grey and the whispers of death sound so sweet. Maybe you have fallen much further than I, where the act of infliction'...

Do We Know Happiness  The deeper I dig into this conscience, the darker the world becomes. Prickling with dismal allegories, and I can't help but feel as if there is no true happiness. That this word, "happiness," is but a false manipulation of the mind in the masses to carry out malicious intent.  To feed the society a spoonful of an abstract meaning, which I find to be unattainable. Even if one finds themselves in the embrace of "happiness," foolish acts are made. Arbitrary decisions drag out an in almost sadistic undertaking by the ego in an almost manic state. Rising one up only to drop them further, to press them into crises when anything fails. "Happiness;" what truly is it when we give it a name, a name to something that cannot be explained in words? No matter how many words we use to explain it, we often respond with, "I can't explain it, I just feel it." By no means am I saying one cannot be happy, that they shouldn...

Our Self-Loathing  Why do we do what we know will harm us? What is the joy of placing ourselves in agony? We so often play the victim of our heads. Stretching our days as far as we can; just to avoid the waking of the morning. To avoid the repercussions of our lousy ruling. But it is inevitable, that upon our waking, we shall regret last minute slumber. Too afraid to sacrifice the ails of our own doings for the gratification of the instant; of things that only consume us to decay. To not let go of what brings us meager comfort. Bringing atrophy, not only to the body, but to the mind. Till we are but walking ruins of disgust, that not even ourselves find joy in company. We elect food that rots our teeth over foods that bring us strength. We become sheep to our weakened ego and desire that which it favors. Feasting till our bowels become irritated with the digestion of the simplistic. As we watch our guts expand like the rapacious pig; ending each day in the misery of o...