Micah Park Biffle

To Those With Depression To those that are depressed, I bring you these words and hope they fill the belly of your soul and nourish your heart, Today, may be tougher than the former or maybe not. Maybe, today is like any other day, you struggling  to remove yourself from your bed is but a wishful feat and nothing more. As you are coiled in the monotony of sadness that seeps from you like foul breath; from a desperate evening of melancholy. Maybe, the mere action to place a smile upon your face may feel like lifting the world from your chest. I know these feelings well, I know them as well as I know the color of my eyes. I know when even a sunrise is no more joyful than a slaved day at work. When the world is pressing you into the unimaginable sinking of despair. Where the air is thin but anxious thoughts a rabid. Where colors fade and all you see is grey and the whispers of death sound so sweet. Maybe you have fallen much further than I, where the act of infliction'...

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 Courageous Purpose  He was only nineteen, much like those around him; he was lost in what life was and where he should go. High school was over and the doors of life were open. He was overwhelmed at the thought of opportunities; but something in him drove him from the average path. The choice to get a job or to go to college were dreadful thoughts. The idea of being placed once more in a room with a teacher. Listening to what mostly likely would have no interest in his heart nor mind; was agonizing to him. The mere thought of sitting at a small table stacked with books drew a nauseating urge from his gut. Boredom followed beside this nauseous feel. Though he felt no desire for either a job or school, he had to make a choice. His fathered gave him three , go to school, get a job, or move out. All three of those were dreadful angles of thought. Each tied a knot inside his heart, constricting his conscious will to create. But though he be a man of a creative mind....

Do We Know Happiness  The deeper I dig into this conscience, the darker the world becomes. Prickling with dismal allegories, and I can't help but feel as if there is no true happiness. That this word, "happiness," is but a false manipulation of the mind in the masses to carry out malicious intent.  To feed the society a spoonful of an abstract meaning, which I find to be unattainable. Even if one finds themselves in the embrace of "happiness," foolish acts are made. Arbitrary decisions drag out an in almost sadistic undertaking by the ego in an almost manic state. Rising one up only to drop them further, to press them into crises when anything fails. "Happiness;" what truly is it when we give it a name, a name to something that cannot be explained in words? No matter how many words we use to explain it, we often respond with, "I can't explain it, I just feel it." By no means am I saying one cannot be happy, that they shouldn...

A Boy and A War  The train had just left the station, his thoughts creep with nostalgia as he watches is home fade into the horizon. His chest holds a nervous wreck, only seventeen and knows nothing beyond his home. He wears an old green t-shirt with red lettering that reads, The Red Menace is real.  His hair short, cut in the manner of a well respected boy. His eyes glitter with sadness as he has to leave everything behind. He knew this day would come but he wasn't ready, he had just graduated high school and was ready for adventure. But now, he is well pressed into the chaos of the world. About to be armed in the fighting against a world enemy. For months he had heard the stories and updates of the war on the nightly radio. But it was all too surreal that he will now be part of such stories. He can still hear the radio announcer speaking of the enemy bombarding the world as if to rid it of cancer. As the train moves further from his home he can still feel the tear...

A Psychosis Love  A psychosis of the heart, feeling what is not there. Seeing what is more but illusions of ghostly figures. A past that has been torn from the chapters like poison in the flesh. Blending the abstract to feel of reality. Though beautiful in thought, art is but the savvy of the heart; and the mind enriches such abstractions. Mixing with the intent to stay in the familiar, though pain may follow. A gorgeous crescendo only to bleed out unto the soul and flood it with no hope of breath. Not even an ark can save one from such a destructible pair. Leading one to be sheep, in their own acceptance of their naive choice. Hurdles of misery are so simple, as one knows the outcome for each. So they race to each only to fall; never taking up practice to leap. For fear of what lies to the other side is more frightful than the repetition of a mangled heart. So they become but a heart of the catatonic; rigid in suffering. They stare idle into what they know they...

A Distant Heart I do not know the callings of connection. Linking one heart to the next, only bruises. I know not the beauty that strings from the correlation of common affection; blood or not. I am strangely distant in my taking of such things. Arms length is my comfort, it is the distance I allow my heart. Even then, I am cautious to contemplate the display of it. Even in the ideal of family I pose a gap between each member. Most would seem that I am reposed in my position of such a thing. Friends, and dare I say family; see me as welcoming and open. But I steer between the fine lines of loving and caring. I skate the outer lines of it all, keeping my hands to my back and heart to my chest. No need, nor the want of my pulse to pump from sleeve. For there, any can see its pattern and carefully concoct a scheme to poison. To place me beneath a spell and travel with little discretion. I fear I was born with an unpleasant amount of empathy, even my enemy I care deeply for. ...