Hi, My name is Micah Park Biffle, I am the author of ' A Man's Traveled Heart,' I am a Veteran who found in understanding of my self through writing. I consider myself an architect of the imagination. Here you will see my creations come to life. My short stories, poems, my thoughts, and a little touch of my life. (I AM SLOWLY MOVING OF BLOGGER< FOR NEW STORIES PLEASE CLICK THE "MEDIUM" LINK TO THE LEFT)
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A Dead Dreamer
A Dead Dreamer
They are grotesque, dull in vision, dull in life. They speak with disease, with illness. They see grey upon all flowers, mountains, and rain. They look no further than their breath, they speak no further than their day.
They find feast upon the damned, upon the withering fields of souls. Plucking newly planted seeds and devour with delight. They shackle their surrounding with bitter taste and soils of resentment. They spit at the nourishment of water. They poison their own wells and gladly share the contaminated. They see no fault in the dwelling of self.
They shift their tongues like the devil, they lurk in the hate of their own shadow. They seek no peace, only slaughter. Praising in the pain of their massacre. If murder was able, they would find themselves painted in blood. An abomination they be, sweltering in the anguish of the plain. Finding the finest escape in the false actions of flesh. It is in their shoes they find poverty of the soul.
Their is little hope for these broken, angered, and smut repleted minds. They carry fading winds like a child to its prized possession. They shriek and scream of horrors of life. Distorting their lips with
misconception, becoming slaves to their own lies. Finding false truth in their fiction.
These are dead dreamers, these are not who we should be.
The Moles Never Learn I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt. As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it. I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing. My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation. I am comfortably wrapped for a day tr
I Had Forgotten Red smoke plumes in the air. A brilliant, yet daunting sky of clouded crimson thickens the sky in sheets of billowed cotton. It rises with no sense to stop. The atmosphere frightens, yet heightens the senses with a strange tingle of pleasure. We are losing our homes to the natural order. Yet I am not taken by tears, but by an odd joy of entertainment. For too long have I adhered myself to these pieces of physical wealth. Yes, through struggle, persistence and consistent efforts I have dawned myself with such rewards. But for too long now, I have forgotten the path I had been taken. I had forgotten the many beads of sweat I spewed from the exhaustion to gain such things. I had forgotten the lonely misery I had fought. I forgotten the friends that lifted me, the moments that tore me down only to bring me higher. I had forgotten the delicacy of a flower. The aromas of nature the beauty within myself and the beauty so naturally displayed around me. So m
The Blameful Two The world broke as their hearts bled the shadows of their misery. Seeping upon the world, flooding with the scars of agony. Their eyes trembling beneath the moonlight as their blood stained hands shimmer. Their lips sewn as each is caught in a lie. Both bare, exposed to their duality. Their curtains drawn thus unmasks the bodies they have slain. The skeletons of truth dragged through the spoils of deceit. Each, unwilling to speak. Their cheeks flush in rose petals. Their skin taut to the anxiety of their arrest. They are now the victims of themselves and each the other. Two hell's preached in the underbelly of their weakness. The fraudulent thought in avoidance of pain. And now they stand as nude as the beginning of life, Adam and Eve. Shaking, they are without words. Silent, bearing only tears that fall to the blood soaked floors. The dark whirlpools of hypocrisy. Neither is without sin and neither is without murder. Their souls weep dearly a