Micah Park Biffle

Our Understanding is Lacking  As I look out into the dreary streets of this city beneath the over hang of an abandoned market; while watching strangers pass by. I think to myself how strange it is, how amazing, how humbling it is. To realize that each person passing by, young or old. Each has a story, each has a perspective, each has suffering, struggles, and joy. Each living in the known and the unknown. These city streets, though I dread their congested momentum and their consent need to be connected in everything. I have a sympathy for it all, for us, I have no pity, but I have great sympathy. For we all have our paths, our heartaches, our lessons, our failures. Some of us start off worse than others, some are born in poverty and know the dreadful aching of hunger. Of worrying if food will be available today. While others, may be born of great wealth, knowing not the pains of hunger or shelter. But knowing  the lack of love, of affection from themselves and others. The l

Persaveve and A Storm  The ocean has become unforgiving. Its rage has expanded to the skies. The winds rush, clouds of murky black pour with rain. Waves rise with mighty violence, even creatures of the ocean are being thrust from the bowels of the ocean. Everything is wrapped in the chaos of nature. No shore is in sight, no birds fly, only the instinct to survive is what fights among these waters, and in the center of it all. Is the most relentless of instincts there has ever been upon these waters. The skillful pirate Persaveve, he has yet to be killed by those who hate him and those who wish to bring him to justice. It is told, that he had stabbed through the heart but was granted no death, for even the devil did not wish him in his house. To this day, it is believed that part of the sword that was forced through his chest remains within his heart. A six inch scar can be seen upon his chest from the blade. While the angry tantrum of the ocean wails upon the earth. Persav

A Genius of Now  He's a genius they say, for he invents, pushes and aims to change the world. To give the average the ability to touch the stars. To see our planet from the cusp of existence. How strange, how amazing, how bold this world has become. We flourish with ideas, exchange them with one another around the world in an instant. Minds of overwhelming creativity burst into the spotlight, only if they are so daring to do so; as is the genius I speak of. He has brought electricity to our feet, thrusting individuals through the streets. He has scrapped the skies with science, with rockets of mechanic brilliance. Stretching science to a new weave of design. For long we were limited in the world by the hands of our government. Only the agencies, foreign and domestic of this dazzling planet were awarded the limitless endeavor of exploration. But now, a man of intrinsic and thought defying vision, has torn down such wall. He has given back the independence of exped

Among T he Graves I walk From the graves I walk, my skin taught, the crows high and the skies bleak. My eyes are weary and so be my heart. The tombs at my feet scream, they plead for me. But I see, nor feel no need to listen. I have contemplated the end and its desire for me. I shed my arms like a tree to the wind. Leave me burdened with no limbs to hoist the heavy weight. Weigh me heavy upon these rotted soils and let me sink. Let me think of all the wretched things I have done, I have become. I wish for no more than to be the feast of crows. For at least, they will have a purpose for my death, my life. There is only stillness in the breath I take. I am walking in the slumber of my head, numb. Count the feathers as they fall, for each is of something I have never told. Buried, my tears are quiet. I look to the sky through the noxious vapors of my voice. What do I see, but the empty toils of what is not to come. My body meager in the urge to press forward.

The Praise of The Wicked He has lied for so long it has become his truth. Creating power, creating wealth with such a tongue of deceit. Smirking between the acts of his crimes as he slides through the bars. Yet, he is praised for his so called gracious endeavors and his accolades of triumphant change. Slithering beneath the grass he has grasped the ankles of his followers, sinking his fangs with precision. Poisoning their thoughts, their freedom with hypocrisy, fraud, and the keen ability of a silver tongue. Upon his pedestal he walks with a darkly sheen, as if something unworldly. As he ensnares the weak with bountiful dishonesty. With deceptive hatred toward his enemy, using the feeble as fodder for his tricks. His inevitable plan to be sly, powerful, and filthy to world, but be lacking in consequence.  Engaging in the atrocious behind closed doors. Generating his wealth through the arms of our enemies and giving no heed to the fallout that shall be. He lives in ma

A Spy and His Love I hear her screaming from the other side of the door. Everything in my body is fighting to get to her, to keep her alive. Even if that means the sacrifice of my own life. My adrenaline exceeding what I have ever felt before. This moment is clear, smooth, with what my intent shall be. My mind indulged in rage, but my heart concealed in the allegiance to my love. I bear all this upon myself, it never should have came to this. Everything was perfect; perfect, till my simple slip up. I got carried away in the comfort of our life and never saw it coming. I should have, for the information of my last mission was never exposed to me upon completion. Whether the enemy was deceased or not, was never disclosed formally to me. I was in such a rush to walk away I was blind sided by lies. My own in command had fell into some hot water with the enemy. For what ever selfish reason, they saw the only way out, the only way to tie up all the ends, was to get rid of me.

A Black Rose  A black rose encased in glass sits idle upon a top shelf. It's gently placed between two black books. The rose case is covered in dust looking to only take up space than give any, all pass by such a spot in the library, keeping keen to what they came for. But on one drizzly afternoon in the quaint town of La Conner a girl in her second year of college. On break from another year of uninspiring classes and endless rhetoric of bland and deceitful philosophy, she wanted to drown her mind into something imaginative and breath taking. She wanted to find her self a story that could bleed her into a world of wonders, mystery, and hope. She was looking for a book that could lead her to such a place. So, upon her second day back, she decided to go to the only bookstore/library in town. Very few went to the library, seeing as most the kids that do live here, are either still away in college or have moved out of town. Those still living her, are mostly retired people

Two Heart Between The Moon and Sun This was not what was to be, I thought surely the moon spoke clearly. That the stars were aligned in the birth of our hearts. But now I see, as tears come to be. That we shall no longer breathe, neck to neck. But rather, between the spaces of our broken hearts. Where the sun never meets the moon and dreams never meet reality. We shall be but ghosts in our memories of either. We will sleep with empty arms, feeling the air become brisk in midnight's breath. Already so lonely, and only a night apart. I feel your heart, as if it is mine. Pale are my lips as we have not kissed. I see the lonesome eyes of grief settle upon my hips. Replacing what would be, our moment of bliss.  I cry, oh I cry, but quickly replace my tears with whiskey sips. Staring at the empty side, at which you used to rest. Our music idle in the background of my mind. I replay our dances, our laughs, as if they are but something that just went amiss; waiting for the

I am No Doctor of Your Soul I don't see any end to this unexcited down pour of your so called tears of misery. For if I remember correctly you spoke of change. Yet here you are, hanging on the tail of my coat. Begging me to comfort your tender soul. Knowing well of what my heart feels of you. What sickly ego you must bear, willing to reach to me in your time of need. Though this be a familiar need, with a familiar problem. A problem I cannot console even if you handed me the key. No, I do not wish to ignore you, but it must be done. For your soul is not the only soul between us. Mine stretches with both arms. Expanding in the desire to be a part of yours. But I have grown to know this is a fools errand. It cannot be done, for your soul reaches to no one. I now hear the fiddle that plays from the roof of your heart, and I hear the rhythm of the devil flows from it. I don't wish to condemn you to your misery, but it seems you are not exhausted of it. I fear it has beco

Give Me Pain,  A Man After Himself Give me more, let the pain rise to my chest. Let the rains flood to my knees and let my screams of victory be heard to the mountains. Spare me nothing, let no idle moment sit by my side. I wish to fight lighting and be heard like thunder. Let Thor strike with vengeance and I shall raise my sword and rally my soul. I am no coward to what seeks to destroy me. Every burden that settles upon my shoulders, I shall wear with pride. I will press up from my heels and carry my burdens with persistence. I will allow no white flag to be risen. If I must retreat, I will not retreat from weakness, but from exhaustion. That in my breaths, you shall see every ounce of me pour from my lungs as if it is my last. I will take advantage of every second that is placed before me. Returning with a more resistant mind and I shall strike down that which tried to force me a failure. Bring the misery, the suffering, pile them on as a king would his food upon a

Unopened Letters  He struck up a match and lit the candle that sat upon his desk. Upon the candles embrace of the flame he blew out the match and watched the smoke fade. His face shifted in the dancing light, one might say it skewed the truth. He then looked around his small cottage and began to check the doors and windows; ensuring they are sealed shut. His walk is slightly subdued by his lame leg. Injured from an harrowing event; but he dares speak of it. He prefers the ever echoing silence of the memory. Never giving more than a glimpse to others to ignore his disabled leg. After checking his very limited perimeter he walks over to his fire place. He leans over a small pile of logs as he adjusts his leg to adhere to his desired posture. He then grabs a log in one hand and chucks it into the middle of the fire place. He then reaches for another and another, he then alters their position. Allowing them to be more feasible to the igniting of flames. Once the logs are set h

A Path Between Two Hills The deserted path is always my favorite. It's a path few in my town are willing to walk. It is far from the nearest common road and is bound between two large hills, that most would grow tired after the hike up. Yes, the view from the hills is outstanding, its almost a mythical view. The kind you read from a book and wish you could see such a thing. But even with the amazing panorama of beauty from atop the hills. There was something that drew me to explore what lay between them.  I was about sixteen when I took my first adventure down between the hills. My mother rarely let me even go to the top of the hill as a young boy. The hill on our side was the tallest of the two, if I was ever to go up, with my mothers consent that is, it would have to be bright and early, just as the sun was rising.  That way, the journey back, I would be home in time for lunch. Growing up I had always been one to seek adventure and explore the enchanted world a

In The Dark of The Forest  I found her among the woods, where the light never hits. Her hair as golden as the sun, eyes of turquoise, lips of a delicate pink and her skin, the milk of a star. I could not believe my eyes, someone so beautiful hidden away in the darkest of places. Where the trees stand a thousand feet tall and their roots digging to the earths core. Where the most ferocious of creatures slumber; dragons. It's a place where goblins roam like ants, making tunnels just beneath your feet. A place where water flows in all directions except to the oceans. It's a magical place, but a magic of darkness. Voices whisper with no reason but to torment even those of its home. Such magic coils deep in the heart of us all, but is never awakened unless one travels to these parts. Though dangerous, I had to travel here; for I knew grace lives beneath these giant trees. In my search I knew I would not fail. For in my journey I could always hear the faint strumming of

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

The Shadows We Breed  My skin crawls, shriveling toward my anxious thoughts. My eyes oscillate in attempt to scour the darkness for hope. But there is no light, only the black breath of my falling thoughts. A cloud emerges from the tail of my tongue. I can hear the scurrying of rats in the pitch of darkness as I begin to cower to the corner. Hungry are they, and I a meal for the ages. I curl up in the fetal, shivering like a lonesome child. Afraid, abandoned by the warmth of love. Everything is desecrated, what is left, but to allow devastation and I to be consumed by that which lurks in this unholy of rooms? This dark cloud swarms my throat and I feel nothing but the bitter cold, like the first kiss of winter, after it has conquered the last field of crops; and I, that field. As I quiver in this empty room, I cannot see the shadows that form from my breath. But I can hear them as if they are my own voice, vivid are they. They speak with malice, trickling with lips of loath

The Beasts That Drove Us Underground  Winter has frozen over the blight city streets. The air nips with a brisk bite as the world sits almost silent. All that is heard is the rumbling of heavy footsteps as the world now no longer lives above ground. Humans have been cast to the sewers and subdivides of the underground. Beasts and monstrous creatures now roam the once beloved Earth. Much has yet to be explained as to where these foul monsters were birthed and why they have come. It has been ten years since they arrived on a beautiful summers eve. Children were at play and the world rested in what one may say, is the closest to harmony has ever come. Conflicts had been decreasing the past twenty years. All countries had became exhausted and at a stand still with war. Emotions for the entire world echoed for a moment of silence. Which they received, but it was brought, not out of diplomacy, but  from the fear of everything ending. A simple push of a button and the world bec

A Darkly Romance She wanted a love that was tried and true, but the script read to her. Was a script of broken strings and bloody hearts. A vigorous sculpting of ruins, a burning village of sorrow. Her tears could never suffice in the suffocation of flames. For a pheromone crown of misery plagued the lining of her thoughts. Her soul, never blissfully cradled in the lips of serenity. Her head upon her pillow was the closest to peace she would ever get. She wore scars upon her flesh from the empty and greatly articulated voices of shadows. Tasting her embroiled dictation of self. Which lacked any palpable succulence of flavor. She was beauty lost in chaos, taken up by the unhealthy and wild madness of despair. Painting pictures of rejection upon her dark encrusted walls. Scarred in the screams of what would never be heard. Her pride consulting her in thought as the ego laid waste to any hope. An unkempt heart bled her of countless devotions. Her lips sewn by her own hands a

An Ignorance of Two  The water is as still as ice and gleams with a pearl blue as quiet ripples orchestrate off the small boat. Both passengers, Edgar and Rye look to each other for reassurance. They have been traveling for three months, over coming treacherous storms, facing monstrous beasts, and thwarting the illusionists of magic. They are exhausted beyond belief, they have very little rations and are running low on water as well. They look toward the path of their boat, but dense fog hugs the brisk air. Looking out into the unpredictable path, Edgar places down his paddle and moves behind Rye and reaches into his bag and pulls out a small old brass telescope. He expands it and places it to his right eye. Rye picks up the other paddle and continues to stroke. An eerie silence fills the air, all that can be heard is the paddles splashing against the water. As they slowly coast through the still enchantment, a sudden look of surprise spreads across Edgar's face. He remov

Cradle This  Cradle this, What ever it may be to you, hold it. Let its fire rise like the flames of a burning forest. Allow new sediment to settle. To bring new life from the old and propel the dead from the soil. Allow new leaves to breathe and roots to sprout new roses. Let the petals expand into an expanse of endless thought. Where journeys are bountiful and all is encouraged in growth. Being not tempted by the swaying tentacles of the damned. As they are portrayed in the depths of sea by delicate light. Many are driven to their luxurious beauty. Only to find themselves bound to their poison, falling ill in spirit. Calling out woes at the most minuscule of disruption. What ever this may be to you, embrace it. Let yourself dance in its glory, for it is a miracle. For too often we are seamlessly pursuing the perversion of what lies at our feet. Turning our heads to the immediate, while flowers reach out to the far. Stretching to what they shall never have, only to fee

A Child and A Gracious Genie A circle of graves stand near an old home. No one dares approach it for the tale of a witch is told to occupy its walls. Even the nearest road is a mile from it, not a single home is its neighbor. But tonight is an usual night, for tonight; a group of kids become curious. Well, not curious, more in thought of foolish bravery seasoned in the words of a dare. So, of the five, three go into the woods to find the hold house by the graves. As they travel through the dense woods at midnight, they speak softly between each other. Doing their best to display no fear, but each can hear their heart beating fiercely. Every branch that breaks beneath their feet they are consumed with fright. Startled, they cling to one another but quickly separate in an act with false bravery. The deeper they recede into the woods, the more ominous everything becomes. They can hear critters scampering between the trees with each step they take. Suddenly, the moonlight van