Micah Park Biffle

Want more?! A Man's Traveled Heart A Cheater To The Cheated   This was not supposed be, you were not meant to cry. My greed to boast my status led me to tear you from your soul.  We were not supposed to fall to the spoils of temptations and sewn lips. Never should I have carved your heart from your breasts, as if meat for my hunger. Never should I have allowed such tears to flow from you. Never should I have wiped you off my heart like soiled tissue upon the sole of my shoe.  I knew the damage I would cause, but like a lion to its prey, I cared not for the repercussions of the other.  I felt no shame in the moment, for I had drowned my heart, my soul, in the spirits of man. Keeping all sense of purpose from of us, from ever seeing life. Maybe, we were never designed for the moon, nor the rising sun. You deserved a horizon of beauty, but I gave you a view of death, of the rancid damned.  A view with mountains built of shame, of faithless prid...

Buried In The Pains Of The Broken  Petal by petal the roses fall and she feels as if she is one. As if she is falling to the coldness of winters tongue. Waiting for the world to thaw, so that she may feel once again. The hollowness of her heart is strangely heavy for how numb she is. Gravity seems to be envious, pulling her deeper to the sunken void of her soul. Leaving her feeling as if time wishes her to vanish to the spilling of its sands. But why would these two wish her demise, for she is but burdened with pain? Wilting in tears as her heart has become two. Separating from itself like the crumbling of a cliff, collapsing to the wide mouth of the oceans. Sinking to the buried parts of her mind, to the shadows that scuttle about like insects. Feeding off the dead, she becomes abled to their words. Drifting in a strange haze of coldness. A misted cloud finds her alone, crying in misery. And in the mist, whispers a voice, an empty voice. But in her packed ears of th...

We Have Forgotten Our Warriors  No longer do we praise the warrior like that in the days of the knight. No longer do we sit by our bedside and pray for the warrior as he dawns his armor for war. No longer do we weep in the destruction of man and the blood that spills upon sands.  Too many preach of the warrior as if their existence is futile in the eyes of change. That bringing weapon against evil is no way to live. But they do not see the tyranny of evil, the cumbersome loses and poison they bring.  Too many have not felt the heat of war, the anger of evil.  Too many have not seen the vision of hell upon earth. The screaming, the dying, the forgotten. The innocent spent as mere pawns to keep a regime thriving like jungles beneath rain.  Too many have not seen the tears of families, wives, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, upon the death their warrior.  Few have felt the burden of the constant eye to stay alive. To wonder if th...

A Lie It hangs sprawled like the carcass of a cow. Gutted, open, silent and vile to an eye unexpected of such things. Nights become filled with terrors in the shadows. It burdeneds the sleep of a soul, its dark hollow eyes follow with a piercing gaze. A gaze that would leave any petrified in its wake. Its cumbersome curdled body lay shouldered upon the soul, draped like loose skin. Its nostrils steadily cherishing the souls anxious aroma. Its lips sewed shut, for it has no voice but the one whom designed it. It lingers with gnawing intent to bring restlessness upon the mind, upon the soul. It never ceases to be, till light is shined upon it. It grows with each passing day, excessive its weight becomes upon the soul. Its repugnant presence expands effortlessly. Slowly choking the genius of the soul. It slumbers in the hidden chambers of the mind. But its rustling against it chains keeps any moment of peace from any expression of the sane. It finds its dwelling in many place...

Mukilteo Beach, WA 2014 In The Tears of The Former I can't be strengthened in one who dwells in tears of the former. For no roots take hold in soils that are ill. No flowers bloom in the bitter tundra of pity. I have lent my heart to those who have found addiction in the forgotten, in the false bliss of yesteryear. And I have felt much pain in the lending of my heart upon their endless pursuit to grasp what is no longer. Like a weight chained to my flesh, they were a burden with each step. No words could conquer their fortified soul, a soul caped in nostalgia. For in the former they deemed those times as the better. But no flower goes without the withering of seasons. The shedding of pedals is always to come. As painful as winter may be, no strength can come of holding to winter. For in the coldness you will find the illusion of depression without the seeking of shelter. For what may have worked in summer, may no work in winter. The tending of new roofs may be needed,...

Do Not Make Waves Or Prison is Where You Will Stay In a world where everyone is the same there was nothing extraordinary. For no one drove against the normality of society. For those that did, either disappeared or were scolded and tossed to poverty. All things were fair, from salary to food. No family had too much, no family had too little. But no family was without more than four. No one was without employment, CEO's did not exists. Bosses did not exist, hierarchies did not exist. Only a government that "knew" well for its people. If one did no like their job, they were simply transferred till they were happy. If no job could suffice their happiness, they would not speak of this. For three jobs transfer is the max, to be fair for all. And if they did speak up after the third transfer, the consequences are unknowing, for those that have, were never heard of again.  An entire family vanishes if one member cannot feel happiness from their life. Disagreements ar...

Stars stare with sorrowed eyes through a small window as night embraces with its dark silk skin. A man sits alone behind cool brick and a window that sits too high. His hands, his feet bounded by heavy chains but he will not defy. His eyes buried by black rings, like that of a raven’s eyes. His face torn by the weather's harsh kiss and the burdens of himself as he brews to the unwise. His body thin to bone, weak from his suffering, he was once king. But now lay a false man, cut from his throne, by the ill speaking of a lie. Too long, he thought it best to bury to the sands of time. To let it be swaddled by truth as if to mummify. But seekers of the past will always find.  He knows no place hide as the moon beams high, sitting in the sky with a prying eye. As if waiting for the confession of a crime. Its blue flesh shines brightly given view to the man’s paradigm. But the man sees no joy in the light of the moon or the eyes of the stars. He only feels the pounding of his heart,...