Micah Park Biffle

The Bone Girl     I hear whispers in the night as I lay my head to rest. I assure you I am not ill, I am not mad in the mind or body. Quiet whispers I tell you, tickle gently upon the canals of my ears before each rest at midnight. Like wisps of wind through an empty hall.   But oddly, I fear them not but I am quite gripped in confusion. As if lost in a room of mirrors, I am finding no exit. But I do not allow my lost mind to be wild. I keep my wits about me as I lay myself to rest.       What these whispers say I do not know. They are foreign in tongue, or so I think. I reach out to my doctor, he gives me no advice but to take pills to help me rest. He states, "It may be your lack of well rest. Often the mind will become delusional if not sufficiently resting."   I take his offer of pills and yet, I still hear the somber voices that trickle from the air. I am not mad I tell you, I swear. There is no delusion of m...

Are Dreams But Not Another World?  Could we be existing in the heaven's or the hell's as we sleep? For what we dream, emulates what we forge within. Are our dreams not the crossing over to another world?  Where all answers are found but skewed in the comprehension of the living. For many of our dreams doddle on the unanswerable, but draw us to believe there must be meaning.  Meaning, we may choose to ignore with the rashest thoughts. Or bore our dreams with denial to our own well being. Looking at them as if a mere jumble of pictures from what the day had brought to us. But like the gut, the intuition, we know there is something  more to us. More than the beating of our hearts or the ticking of our minds.  Have we not all consumed the feeling of our gut in the decisions of life?  Have we not all ignored this feeling of knots that taut our stomach like string, but fail to untie it, to follow it?  Leading us to disapp...

Be As Does A Tree This is your moment, where you will guide yourself like that of a tree. You will remain still in your beliefs. Holding through all weather though you may feel brittle in the coldness. In the lonesome nights toward your happiness as does the tree in winter. That stands alone among all the rest. Be gentle in your thoughts as does the tree. Growing steady and never to linger too long at one height. Grow with patience as does the tree, never faltering to what those around it do. Never listening to the faults that the mind gossips to stunt your rise. Build armor among your soul through all the suffering as does a tree in its growth. Growing from sapling, innocent and silent, to an abundant beauty of awe. But steady does it grow, with vigor even through the harshest of storms. And with each passing day, a new layer of bark is laid. A new ring with each passing year. As reminders of its vicious but glorious past, that has made it what it is today. A reminder of ...

A Monstrous Machine and A Simple Habit  I wish to turn something dull into something magnificent. I wish to turn the mere actions of one into something transcendent to the senses. Actions one does from the mere sake of habit: The sound of water flows from a single point. Fingers from an early morning rise find themselves delve into the flowing water. The water rushes upon the fingers like a flood. With no anticipation to stop the water falls in perfect harmony upon the skin. Caressing the flesh as it is resisted to stay. Falling quickly to the basin of its now new home.  As water rushes the fingers adjust to the rising temperature of the tempered water. As the water rises in heat. The fingers are removed from beneath the translucent life, the fingers glide back from the pouring of water. Gently the fingers clasp upon glass, raising it from a cold, silent, ivory surface.  The air is brisk, silently collective with the smells morning dew and the crisp f...

A Dark Path and Three Drunk Fools  Down the narrow path lies a red light, a light that flickers and shines only at night. With a carved sign that's says "no trespassing or you will die." No feet of the villagers near by, have ever dared to peer to the other side. For there is too much fear and imagination to stride.   They talk of those whom may have died upon being crucified and left to dry. To hang damnified for the horrible things they did with villagers to be sacrificed. Even stories of an ugly man who was ostracized for his looks and left to die. To be recluse and sing his tunes. Some say if you listen close enough, you can her him play the organ, with a man name Hyde.  Some speak of a child whom's spirit floats about that of the other-side, who died on a carnival ride. Though this path is hidden on a mountain side, near a village few have seen with a naked eye. This path resides world wide. Though these stories have little evidence to be cla...

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 ...

The Adventures of The Toughest Kid  Do not let your imagination go to waste James is a young boy, no older than 14, he is full of life and full of imagination. He never lets a day go by without an amazing adventure with his friends or even just himself. Adventures with Pirates, Vikings, or even Treasure Hunters. What ever the adventure be, James takes his imagination to the top. Exceeding any limits of the ordinary. He creates the most magnificent adventures anyone could dream. Adventures that can be treasured for years to come and still be as if it were told for the first time.  Adventures with monster that make the skin tingle with fright, or monsters that make you laugh from their foolish ways. James never leaves a single detail out. His imagination is endless, it's a wild ride that leaves any heart racing. James has never had a day where his imagination went to waste. Ghouls, ghosts, and zombies lurk behind every corner. Warriors with mighty strength stand hidde...

Sometimes dreams are in the dimmest places  -Dreams Are Nothing-  He stares far into nothing,  Looking for something,  Always searching for that which is missing, But never finding.  No matter how far searches,  How close he gets,  He finds nothing, His senses are choking.   He tastes nothing,  Feels nothing,  He smells nothing, not even the budding of flowers,  But he keeps chasing. Chasing, Something that cannot be explained,  Something that gnaws upon his barren existence,  Something that itches like the scab of flesh An aching churns his spirit, he swings from a thread of domestic clashing. He is bursting with imagination, But Hurting in creation,  A dreamers dream, but horrors embracing,  He searches the deepest ends of his heart,  Still he becomes lost,  Still he finds the misery of the empty, finding his tongue upon cursing.  S...

Fables of A Mansion  It’s a ghastly night, a night that’s fills with much fright. Nothing seems quit right. In a neighborhood that is lit only by moon light. The clouds, ominous in shape, fill with blackness so dark it sends a chill, even through those who live by candlelight.  Covering the streets that lay frozen to frostbite.  Each block feels of ghosts and ghouls gushing from frosty misted air, dancing, between clouded lights. And on this street stands a lonesome mansion, crooked, tangled in vines, a sight far from polite. It sits alone forced against a long twisted road.  Crowded by crooked trees, bare of any leaves, choked by arid nights. And prying eyes from swamps filled with the smells of rotted troglodyte. Wolves howl at the narrowing sky. Not a single soul dare come by, for they fear, their soul will die.  Stories are told of this mysterious home, stories long and old. Stories that leave you awake a night. Stories that leave the soul g...