Micah Park Biffle

Your Heart is A Battleground   You're heart is a battleground. Wounded with misery, streaming down the corridor of your walls like paint drying upon canvass, a crimson hue. Echoes of warriors yell from the suffering you have beard and shall bear.   It beats with vigor but holds graves of many. Transformed in each battle you have lost something, but gained much more. Though you are a rhythm of pain, there is beauty in the gloom. The fields at which you fought now spread with golden wheat.  Eagles soar in the fresh winds in the feasting of varmints as you move on. Brave, unwavering to the endless bouts of suffering. Unsheathing your blade from the vanquishing of your enemies. You have  bled love from each wound and have filled the veins of your flesh with heartbreak.  But have fought your way to cleanse the polluted rivers of your heart. You have never been silent in the abuse of self, nor in scene of your enemies attempts to murder...

His Splitting Heart  Its madness, I quake in fever of your love. But I am stretched like a victim of Renaissance, slowly separated in two halves. Each yearning for something else. A tragic scene I have become, a mad creature of the desolate. Dragging my halved corpse like a sickly dog by its collar. No strength to hold its own, only whimpers of defeat. I argue as if I am two, looking to my reflection as I am stained in the blood of my heart. I look of famine, my soul, desperate in the tears of love. While I am lewd in my craving of what is denied of me. Corrupting my own lips upon black roses, straining the world of any color. Creating bleakness to be my romance. Candle light and lonely screams now fill my nights. It's horror I wish to leave, yet, like an addict to the itch of narcotics; I pleasure in its familiar appeal. Though in the waking moments I plead for comfort. For peace in this delirious heart. For you shadow my mind with every passing thought. You are a sc...

An Act,  A Scene,  A Love With One Side  V: "May I be as bold to say, I love you?! Or am I fool for placing my heart to the quiver of your soul? For I know you speak as if your heart is no longer a place for love. I know your tears fall not for me, but for the former, and the lonesome hole that reverberates in reminder of your fragile being." A: "Yes, you are fool for such a thing. For I am torn in pieces, scattered among many, devoured in their mouths and never given peace. I am a fool myself, for I dwell well in the former. Cutting my own wings from my back. For I fear, that if I fly, I will collapse under the gravity of another's heart. That I shall never feel myself again, nor the warmth of another. I am better in quarry of the broken, than seeking the blood of love." V: "I feel your pain, I hear it as clear as the rain upon my roof. I have listened well and gave tribute in your pain. We have exchanged bodies, even soul...

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 ...