Micah Park Biffle

An Ignorance of Two  The water is as still as ice and gleams with a pearl blue as quiet ripples orchestrate off the small boat. Both passengers, Edgar and Rye look to each other for reassurance. They have been traveling for three months, over coming treacherous storms, facing monstrous beasts, and thwarting the illusionists of magic. They are exhausted beyond belief, they have very little rations and are running low on water as well. They look toward the path of their boat, but dense fog hugs the brisk air. Looking out into the unpredictable path, Edgar places down his paddle and moves behind Rye and reaches into his bag and pulls out a small old brass telescope. He expands it and places it to his right eye. Rye picks up the other paddle and continues to stroke. An eerie silence fills the air, all that can be heard is the paddles splashing against the water. As they slowly coast through the still enchantment, a sudden look of surprise spreads across Edgar's face. He remov...

A View That Changed His Mind I opened the door to an abandoned church, it was just before sunrise. As I opened the door a swarm of doves came flying out. I was quickly caught off guard by the unsuspecting flock. But in the short stint of startled fear I regained my composure quite swiftly. I realized what an alluring moment it was to be a part of this. An almost fantasy like moment, one you would read in a book. It was amazing, not because the doves were beautiful in their own. But everything that was captured within it. The church itself of a true piece of architectural beauty. Each stone was perfectly placed to create a very divine symmetry. The stained glass windows embraced the light with such glory; reds, blues, and yellows bent through the windows with perfection. An array of shapes and figures were graciously melded into the glass. They almost appeared to be as if they were alive but frozen within the colors of the glass. Even the entrance itself held a mighty glori...

A Separating of Hearts  Tearing through the fabrics of dream like thoughts. Descending from the mezzanine of my own words. I hear the violins sing in the courtyard of my chest. Somber are they, pouring tears from their strings. From the place at which your hands used to caress. Calming your heart with mine, listening with a smile. But now we must move on. Our paths are no longer in divergence; separation is our only chance. Dare we hold hands in the fear of our own insecurities, we shall only find anxiety. In that, we shall find resentment; for we will only lead ourselves from our own hearts. It burdens me so, watching you let go. Our fingers once laced like lips locked in a kiss. Now I travel these unknown paths, and alone. Your voice distant in my head, but close in my heart. The fields before me stretch with golden weaves of wheat; reminding me of your sunrise locks. I smile, but we did not forfeit out of anger nor frustration. But have given ourselves the chance to ...