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)
They are in our sleep, our minds, and our hearts. They linger in the dark like a passenger in an empty coach. Watching with reds eyes and a black soul. They chatter amongst each other like crooked politicians. Seeing what schemes they may press upon you with minimal resistance. Waiting for opportune times to stretch your mind till it snaps.
Spilling all reasoning from it like spit from a Novocaine mouth. They shriek in hopes to bring you fear like a child lost in the moonlight. They fester like illness and scratching them only spreads them like a virus. And with no avail, no single soul has found a cure. For they breech all walls with little persistence.
They swim between the beats of our hearts and dwell in our veins. Waiting with absolute patience.
But what are they, you may ask?
They are but us, our reflection, our many faces we place upon our soul. Each face meaning something else, each given strength with each wear. And with little effort to become the dominant.
They are but our thoughts, our choices, and our values. They cater to our weakness and build within our misery, our suffering, and our tragedy. Looking for that single link to cut in the chain, living us in a state of depraved depression.
Lulling our dreams to sleep and murdering our faith in our love for ourselves.
But bring not fear to the reading of this. For, if they are but us, then we are in control. We are but the one whom may condemn them, or bring them wealth.
But in the damning of their retched existence, one must be potent in the belief of self. Commanding in the creation of thought. And willing to embrace the need for constant change.
Though there be no cure, there is the ability to live beside them with peace. And find a life flowing with the joys of happiness.
But one must be constant in the potency of self and the commanding of thought. And comfortable in the embracing of change. All, which come with practice and earning in patience.
Thank you so much for reading! If you like what you read, then A Man's Traveled Heart is a perfect match for you.
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A Summer Bird's Winter Perch I watch this lonely bird chirp upon a slopping branch. Its feet wrapped firmly around the thin finger of bark. As I watch, I commiserate its position. Sitting there, alone, singing with no others to listen. Speaking I assume, to itself. Maybe contemplating its unfortunate circumstance. For the rest had already left for the winter. If I am not mistaken it was only a few days ago that I watched a flurry of birds dart by. Their wings flapping against the brisk wind collectively. Not a single one appeared worried of their journey. Their shadows crawled quickly across the empty streets during a fall evening. I watched them pass by like a feather floating down stream. I couldn't help but wonder, how long must they fly? What winds must they fight, what elements must they battle against? All must be against them as is every moment in time is against us all? Yet they fly forth to the heat of earth. Dependent upon their survival but, what
The Taste of Love, Will It Ever Be Mine? When will I find my lips upon the sweet taste of love? Lost to its scent like the aromal smell of roses upon skin. Will there be an end, beneath an apple tree buried next to my other half? Or will I drown in the soiled pity of my heart as whiskey stains my veins? For I find the misery of myself to be a dull company, but yet its tingles with addiction. And I draw my eyes close to the empty halls of the damned. Screaming for peace but always find myself chocking on pride. Lost in a dense fog I created in the heat of breath upon my frozen heart. Distant am I, in the reaches of tears. For they have no existence in the forefront of my mind, nor heart. Some may call me hollow, lackluster in the dreams of my own thoughts. What is one without the acceptance of tears, without the bravery to step into the engagement of vows? How does one truly go beyond his own vicious habits if there lies no other to call them out? I hear my soul whispe