Micah Park Biffle

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...

Babylon Thought  Build, build, let us touch the heavens where god seeks to hold us. Let us structure each brick to compose the steps to the heavens. Bear no mind to the agony at which it costs, life is part of the sacrifice. Let us climb to the clouds and past the stars; where we shall see the eyes of it all. Do not be weary in the work, for this is our destiny. Our true reasoning of our manifestation, were are not of these soils. Nor do we wish to dwell upon them anymore more. The beauty here has become tedious and shallow. Nothing new sprouts from these false accolades of nature. The trees bear no new fruits, the sky brings no new heights and the earth springs with no new mountains. We are not meant to live in this haze of existence. Fending through meager flesh to keep our souls pulsating. We have grown bored of the frail design of our thoughts, we have ceased expansion in creation an idea. This be our only hope, we must climb. Burden your body with stone so that ...

Rapture Your Soul  A splendid rapture of the soul can lead one to become well. To cleanse the envious toils of the heart and mind. Rinse clean the absolute disgust the recedes in the darkest crevasses that one fears to reach. We carry cobwebs that need to be brushed. But we fear them, as they look of webs. A dwelling for eight legs and venom. Ignore them do we, fearful watching as the wind sways them delicately. Clean them? But what if a creature lives within them, ready to kill what life we have left? Well so be it, at least an attempted to become healthy in spirit gave you hope to become something new. Clinging to filth is nostalgic, memories riddle the old. We hold dearly as we angst they may be useful later on.  But when has a cluttered heart of antiques led one to be profound in themselves? By all means keep the scars of lessons, but do not hold tight to what only brings burden. Scratch the regret from the mind and polish it for something greater. ...