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 Wanderers Inn   I have been traveling for thirty days. My horses are weak and I thirst dearly for water. My belly aches as hunger constricts my gut. I am fearful of death in such an unsuitable way. I have always seen myself dying in daring act of life.  Be it in war or the saving of a child. Or maybe, even in the defeat of a dragon as I get one last blow with my blade before it strikes me down and it falls to its death beside me. Feeling its last breath of heat roll over my body as our eyes see only our fading souls.  I have always thought my death would be glorious. Yet here I am, traveling alone with no more rations, nor water. My horses no longer walk with fervor but lackadaisical steps. And so I pray to find shelter before the cold takes us. Before the empty plains of barren trees and darkness finds us.  I wish not to be detritus before my days. Decaying slowly to the maggots as my body lays helpless upon the earth. Becoming a gruesome ...

   The Ugly Place   The trees are thick with tar, dripping from the smoldering breath of the crimson sun. The heat swells with moist humidity. Vapors of hot breath paste to the flesh like glue. While hands embrace feebly to tattered umbrellas to keep refuge from the goo of the lonely trees.  This ugly and forsaken place be the lands of Hollow Graves. An empty place where many lay but walk bare with nothing to say. Their lips crusted of pain, hydration is far from the soul. No rivers flow with water, only the blood of the dead.  The mountains bare no snow, only the flesh of those of womb. The sacrifices of the living, those who took what was not theirs. Snuffing the gift they were bestowed. Searching for a lasting escape from sufferings of the life. Only to find themselves torn with each repeating day.  Their flesh kissed by the mending lips of demons. Only to scream out to repent as the devils sly lips turn sharp. Lacerating the innocent skin, t...

 Maiden of the Lake    I swear I saw her, the maiden of the lake. I saw her on a late night walk as I passed behind a distant row of trees. My heart beat irregular that night. Something pulled my eyes toward the glimmering lake, I remember vividly.  The night was brisk, the stars shimmered from the sky as their light laid upon the lake like cream. Glittering to the gentle waves created by the oh so bitter wind. My hands rested stiffly in my pockets as I tried to keep warm.  My thoughts were lonely, a cold crisp pattern of thinking yanked my already stressed mind. But as I was walking, battling the torment of my thoughts. The odd sense to veer my eyes toward the mirroring lake led me to see her. To witness the magic I have only heard of.   It was surreal, nothing could have accounted for a more brilliant and magical moment. It was beautiful, a captivating wonder. Nothing could describe what I saw, a woman fair of everything. A woman so vivid of ...

A Ranchers Love    Another day at the hands of hard labor. His heart loved, but his body trembling with exhaustion. Age is finding home inside his brittle bones as pride takes his logic. His hands as calloused as his first years. His body, ruffled by the heat of the sun.  His eyes embellished by the circling of darkness, the perching of crows. His hair, as ghostly as the morning mist. His face, worn, with years of dust, dirt, and grim. But his smile still remains, his heart still beats as if sixteen.  Jasper, opening the door to his lodge house that sits dead center upon his land. Steps inside and removes his boots. Holding each in one hand he turns to the opened door and clacks the boots together. Clouds of dust waft from the bottom of his boots. Chunks of mud fall to the heavy vibrations of the repetitive collision.   With the boots cleared, he places them to the left of the door just inside. Jasper turns to the door and shuts it. Turning back to...

   A Spanish Paradise  It is a start, a new seeking of life. Her heart has never been the same and how badly she wants it back. How dearly she wants to caress the moon with her lips and the sun her heart. Delicately letting her soul unfold like the blooming of a flower beneath the cool rain of spring.   And so Melody takes to the skies with a one way ticket to her paradise. To a small town in South America where she had gone once before as a child, visiting her grandfather. She remembers the buildings, how warm their sandstone colors were.   How elegantly the sun danced off the artistry of the horizon against the mountains covered in the lushness of nature. How beautifully the glow of the moon glittered upon the stone streets after a rainy day.   So much beauty, so much history in each curve, each arch, each stone. Everything is painted so well in her memory. She looks down from her seat through the window of the plane and sees the cascade of fl...

 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 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...

An Exit to Paradise The pressure of today has gotten to me.  My job feels like an overbearing weight upon my back. The world feels as if it will never allow me to catch up. I feel my heart being thrust into the atmosphere like a rock hurdled into the sky. I reach for it, but my grasp is to slow. So I watch it blend into the shadows of space. It twinkles for just a moment between the darkness and stars, as if to say goodbye one last time. It's five O'clock, I can finally step out of my office and breathe some air.  I'm walking down the hall to the exit, I can see the exit only a few more steps and I'm free. The glass doors shimmer from the evening sun. Casting shadows beneath the trees just outside. I long to bask in such shadows with a drink in hand and nothing but the wind. But as I leave and my hand touches the handle of the exit a voice calls my name, "Aires!"  I want to keep walking  but I know who it is and I know they know I heard. I he...

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...

Are we  of God and Devil?  What if, we are but pieces of god? Our soul be of the heavens and our flesh be of hell. What if we are but pawns of opposition to each side? In constant struggle to appease them. Each wanting us, all of us.  The heavens cheering for our soul and hell cheering for our flesh. Hell, waiting with mouths wide with teeth sharpened and coals burning. Waiting to make us an army of its devout creatures of temptation, greed, jealousy and hate.  As heaven weeps for us in our faults and prays we lead with our soul. Waiting for us to consume the waters of our heart. Hoping we choose wings over the walking of our feet.  What if, in our death, whichever side we acted more generously upon, we are given to that which we devoured more? What if, in death our souls can rise to heaven or become tied to our flesh forever? Forever chained to the misery of agony of pain as we are stretched from limb to limb in the pleasures of the devil.  W...

 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...

It is Time To Let Go  It's time to let it all go. Pack the bags of the past, toss them to the river banks. Let them float away, never to be heard again. Let the mistakes that burden your soul find refuge in the clouds, away from the heart. Away from the prying eyes of pride and ego.  It is time to be bold in the fear of failure. To rise up against the howling winds and cut yourself a path to the highest mountain. Allow your wings to spread, it is time. It is time to let the faces of your misery be washed from your mind, from your soul.  You are moving on, the tears that now fall from you, are tears to keep going. To press beyond the apathetic dwellings of suffering, of tragedy. You are human, as are we all, set aside perfection, and seek improvement.  Put down the idol of the flesh and find idols of the heart. Preach to your soul, not your skin. Cleanse the bloodied floors upon which you walk. Allow the stains to remain as reminders, as are scars. Let the...

The Restoration of an (Outgoing) Introvert It's not that I don't want to see you, it's that I can't. I can't do this anymore, I am exhausted. Every waking hour, it is them, you, us, him, her, this that. A barrage of active minds in world I find wonderful but grow tired of. I am not dulled by your presence or any others. I am rather, drained, as one might be after excreting themselves in exercise. I need time to present my heart, my mind, with silence. With myself and myself alone. Allow me to play my instruments without an audience. Without the subtle hints that you want to do something else. Let me be quiet for moments to come and let time fade between the bones of my flesh. Trickling through like atoms of earth. I need to bring nourishment from the quiet waning of stillness. No motion, but the beating of my heart. No sound, but the calming of my thoughts. I love....you, all of you as I did yesterday, but today, today I am spent of vitality. I am rece...

A Land of Memory  As the river seeps to the ocean I feel my soul expand to the glossing waves of summer. Crashing against the once broken shore of my heart. But now my sands vibrate with excitement, attracting the risk of the unknown.  Blossoming with arms wide open to catch the unforeseen as do shores reeling in debris. I follow with my eyes to heed to the beauty of my thoughts. Never catering fully to the echoes that call from the ever ebbing waves.  The lodge that sits at the edge of the woods once swelled with painful misery. My heart was torn from my ribs at the hand of my love. I quelled my misery in the delight of vices as I fought to forget her lips, her soul.  Our feet used to press together into these sands as we waltzed with smiles and eyes fixated to each others glistening horizons. Every flower reminded me of her beauty, of her elegance. Just as flowers sway to the touch of wind, so did her hair.  Such aroma do flowers give, but their ...

Vivid Darkness  The black roses grow, Though the world is bleak, buried beneath this vivid snow. The cold is dreary, it pawns the old. Shivering the soul in travels among the bold. Seeking for reason to unfold but fright brings concern when one with-holds. Keeping buds from being exposed in harsh realities told. A sight of fearful eyes gaze in the empty rolls of the sold Weary in breath for they have given up control. Looking for reason to continue to scold. For rigid has their stem become. Crooked and holed, like translucent souls, invisible to all. But pain exists in the thresh of it all. Ruptured hearts fall like rain drops of clouds that hang tall A drizzle of hope is open but the darkness becomes its anvil. Weighted it cries, a cracked skull and it becomes dull. Vanishing to the awful the angled skew of nonsensical babble. Leaving tongues spread in a hull of deception as weaving breaths of the miserable confess. But concede with little honesty. They a...