Micah Park Biffle

Alec and the Unexpected Beast  The ocean is calm, the morning fog settles thick as the tide is receded into the distance. Young Alec is out collecting seashells to bring back to his mother, so she can make decorations for the home. As Alec collects shells, he sees something poking from the earth.  It looks as if a Dorsal fin sticking from what appears to be a shallow pool of water. Alec, with his curiosity he ventures toward the object. On his way he collects shells he thinks his mom will like. He places them gently in a satchel his mother made by hand. Its hand sewn fabric is worn from the many adventures of shell collecting. You can see shells piercing the lining of the satchel.  Alec reaches near the possible dorsal fin. As he approaches he keeps his eyes on it as he places one more shell in the satchel. The cold air becomes more frigid as Alec nears the foreign object. Nearing it, he decides to place down his satchel of shells a couple yards from it. ...

 Stop Chasing That Rabbit!  When the rabbit gets away and you are now lost. Spinning in circles without any knowledge of where it could be. When the rabbit is just out of grasp and you feel the success of capture at your fingertips but it eludes you.  When everything feels to be in place, but the next day all is lost once again. And you forgot to call that one person for that one thing. Now you are scrambling to fix the situation. You're looking for what went wrong, why did you forget?  Then, you see that rabbit run by. You try again, to capture it, but again, it escapes your attempt to catch it. Again you are lost in a twirl of failure or a light touch of exhaustion, allowing it to roam free.  All through life, you are running around trying to keep the rabbit in the cage. To keep things in line and even the most repetitious things at one point slip your mind. Maybe you are overwhelmed maybe, you are doing so well things you thought were important sl...

 A Pianist's Heart Argus is man with much sadness. He reaps silent tears behind his eyes with each grieving day. His heart is not bitter, but cold. It beats only to the music he plays during those nights of restless thoughts. Where everything coincides with his desperation to be heard.  His music lulls those who struggle severely with many illnesses of the mind. Argus has always been one to think, to contemplate the solution to the angst of the mind. Argus has spent much of his time studying his own behavior and those that he knows personally, which are few; and those he sees passing among the streets. Finding what he lacks by looking to those that have what he seeks.  As well as being a man of music. One day, through his own misery he stumbled upon a song that captured him. That held him so tightly in an emotional embrace, he almost wept dearly. A tear had escaped upon the ending of this song.  To feel a tear fall, was a miracle for Argus. For he had she...

What Must I do? What shall I do to appease the crowd? What words must I fling from my lips to caress your soul? Should I write of love? What of misery and torment? Will the depiction of shadows infesting a lonely heart suffice?  Must I not touch the politics of the world or may I, but I am not of the side you desire? Does what I write bore the mind? Are my stories too bleak, do they not bring enough happiness? Are my words too bitter, too painful? Do my thoughts not consume the very air you breath? Must I break character and fall inline?  Or is what I write done well that most fear of what I write? Are my words, my thoughts too heavy for the average heart? Am I to shrouded in my words?  Should I write more clearly more precise in my endings and my beginnings? Does my grammar cause your eyes to cringe? What must I be, what must I do for you, for all?  For I feel the lack of interest build as I build my collection of stories. I can see the lethargic c...

Alone among the Rain Though the rain shall pour and I may sit alone atop a bench in an empty park. I have my dreams, my imagination and the pages I hold in my hand. Pages that are to be written as I wish. To be read as I mean them to be read.  Though this be an empty moment, a shallow grave for many thoughts. I shall continue thinking, being, doing. I shall live in the rain if I must, a constant wash of my suffering. I sit between the darkness and light, as do you.  In a struggle to not lean one way more than the other and sometimes I do. Sometimes the demons grasp my ribs and pull me. Sometimes the angels hold my heart and I allow such an embrace. I know demons be thy enemy, no matter their words.  But I am but a human. A soul torn from the eyes of god set upon this earth to fight. To win my way to my everlasting love. To raise up my wings and fly or set down my feet and walk. It is I who designs the story I read. It is I who sits alone among this cold night...

 What is Your Why? Before you begin on a journey of discovery, before you start down the path of your heart. Ask, what is your reason for such an attempt? Why step into the passion of your heart? What do you want from it? Glory? Fame? Wealth? Freedom? Health? Love? All the above?   These are questions I believe all should ask themselves before they leap from their edge and spread their wings. For one needs a destination and that destination is the why. Without a why, you are surely to fly above the clouds only to end up falling, crashing to earth in a blaze of exhaustion.   I am not saying you shall fly forever the moment you find your why. For there may be many why's you find before you find the one that holds to you. The one that truly sparks you to start and never stop. I have fallen many times from my why's before ever landing on the one that has kept me going.   I have risen as a phoenix many a times. I have watched my wings crumble beneath ...

 Life Is Life is, a beautiful sunset. Life is a sunrise cresting over an ebbing tide. Flooding the once hidden sands to be seen by our delicate eyes. Life is waking with a smile, finding reason to rise even during the storms. Life is a gift, and we must spend it, share it wisely.  Life is our only life, life is the silent moments with those we love. The moments we jump into puddles of laughter and wet our souls with a loving appetite. Life is our beating heart, the blood rushing through our veins without a thought.  Life is, complicated, but only if you make it so. Life is, do able, but only if you work it to be. Life is an opportunity, one against ten to the two-million-six-hundred and eighty-five-thousandth power. That is a chance of almost zero.  Life is, a miracle, a chance to be what no other creature can be, you, and what ever dreams you wish to build. Life is, creativity, creating yourself: learning, trying, doing, failing, and getting back up. Lif...

 A Fathers Revenge  The ocean sits idle as I creep along this sandy coast. The castles highest peak breaches the clouds like a mountain. It is an intimidating and wonderful site, but much evil falls from the walls of this castle. As I near the closest point of the beach at the base of the castle, I can feel an ominous touch caress my surroundings.  I feel my bones chill and my skin percolate with goosebumps. Even my horse, reacts with strange and unusual nuances. I grip her rein tightly to calm her with a few gentle strokes across the bridge of her head.   After a bit, she calms down. I then look her in the eyes and I can still see something is frighting her. But she is now doing her best to stay calm and listen. After the ominous touch, we approach the very base of the castle.   Looking up, I can no longer see the top of the tower anymore. The clouds cover what was once visible. My view blocked, I remove the hook shot from my back...

Painted A Blue Heart I painted a heart today, a heart to remember you by. A blue heart, why blue? I am not exactly sure, maybe to show the sadness I have. Or to remember all the cold winter nights we shared by the fire. A bitter sweet case of love. I glazed the edges in a shallow blue, a light hue. Why, I am not sure? Maybe to remember the more delicate times we had, where we shared tears yet happiness ensued. As I drew this heart, I thought of the warmth it brought, though it be blue. But are there not flames of blue? Color is a mere abstract of feelings, often I find what others find sad, happy. That is why I painted this heart blue, at least that's what I think. After the shallow blue, I drug the far edges of the canvass in pure blackness. I created a shroud of darkness to encase the far edges of what I painted. Why? Maybe to reinforce my belief that you are still out there somewhere, living where we could not. That what is at the center of all this sorrow, can expan...

My Life At the Edge   My life's on edge, a vertical swing. I see the stars from which I cling, staring to the ground and wonder how it will feel, when I fall, I'm sure it will sting. All the while my heart sits at edge, slipping, I sing. Allowing a fantasy to be, pretending there is nothing that is aching.  My bones creak as the shadows creep. Coldness flows upon each step and I shiver as I weep. I have yet to feel clean, no matter the wash, I wish to glow. Always asking, why me, why the sudden stop of what made me happy? I bend with twists and turns as life is what ever it will be.  I turned my tongue from complaints, to high aim. Adding new strings to my instrument as my soul sits in its sling. Pondering a new place to live, to breathe, to be. But there is no escaping, breaching what leaves us both babbling at the edge.  No more terrible aiding of sour lips. No more firing from the hips, yet here I am blocked by what ever is behind this mist. I mis...

The Dusted Years  The fields went bare, the oceans calm and the air thick with dust. Crops were buried in the depth of earths cough. It appeared as if death had showered its breath upon the once marvelous existence of man. Hunger struck the every belly that walked the lonely paths. Hands that sewed the fields now cry out into the dusted air. Faces ragged of despair and fear, depression sulked the very heart of everything. Men struggled to provide, women lost touch in the nurturing. The world flipped upside. As if the gods were in the mood to shake the earth in the curiosity of experiment. Laughter was little, frowns were in heavy supply and pain was given for free. Children clung to the neck of each breath; as any form of sustenance was only convenient to those in the embrace of bureaucracy. Or those that salvaged their future before it ever arrived. The teething need to survive sprung a leak in the bowels of crime. Many came crawling to its rising stench. Seeing the...

A Murdered Love of War Three hundred and sixty-five days since she held him in her arms. Her whole body swept up in anxious fright and joy. She thinks to herself, "Will he remember me? Will he still love me?" She throws on her best dress and lipstick; looks herself in the mirror and says, " I am gonna go the hair salon and strike myself the hair of an angel!" Still looking herself in the mirror she twirls around with a large smile, "Oh my, I can feel my heart beating against my chest." She smiles and lets out a small giggle. She stops twirling and slides her hands down her sides, over her hips to make sure the dress forms perfectly to her body. She then places a hat upon her head to hide her wild hair before it is touched by her stylist Mary. She quickly steps over to her closet, picks up her red heels and she rushes out her room and down the stairs. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and places on her heels. While struggling to keep her ...

Waking To Magic I woke to magic, to stars falling, to the moon rushing with water, and the trees singing. I stood still for only a moment, before I felt my heart leap. It struck my ribs; pulling me forward. I took a step, and as I did, the world around me became animated. The scenery entwined like a dream.  Colors flew from my fingers like beams of light. Cliff sides swayed like grass in the wind. I reached out, I touched the moon. The water upon it's rugged terrain felt cool. I cupped it in my hands and I drank it. Upon the touching of my lips, my tongue, I became clouded in sorrow. But I could feel joy speak from these enchanted waters as well. As the water rushed down my throat; tears emptied from my eyes in silence. I knelt to the ground placing my hand upon the grass. As I did, it suddenly wrapped around my hand, but with a gentle displacement. It was as if it could feel my agony, like it knew my pain. I carefully pulled my hand from the grass and glided it ...

The Sirens are Ringing  (Warning, graphic depictions below) The sirens are ringing, the loud speakers in the city are playing a single message on repeat. Though the voice that speaks from the static is calm, it holds an ominous tone. It states: "We are in a state of emergency; the city is under direst. Seek immediate shelter, lock your doors, windows, and if possible board them up. If you have weapons of any kind, arm yourself with them immediately. We are under attack; the police are managing what their capabilities allow. If you are alone, and/or among the streets, please seek shelter now, do not force entry of any kind. As all citizens are on a state of alert, which may lead to accidental death in defense if forcing your way into entry. Be sure to announce your intentions and show that you are of no harm. If you see any emergency response teams, please announce your presence as well and show no ill intent. They will support you if they are readily available. ...

Fear No Dragon  Eyes glaze in the echoes of yesterday, the failures, the wins, the losses, and the gains. A heart protruding, not only in the shell of thorns, but flowers. Piercing through a chest of inevitable pain and sorrow, as any breast.  A conquering will to achieve the unthinkable though held to the brims of misery. Casting the vibrancy of joy, letting it sink like mist and fill the veins of harmony. Feeling no fear in the sight of a dragon. Pulling teeth of the mighty of beast as if they are weeds to a garden. Using the scales as armor, lifting the heart in the acquiring of wings. Letting no meat go to waste, allowing no mistake to go without resolution. Purging the head of a mask that bears heavy weight, feeling the release of the rotted, the ill and the damned. Rising in the flames of faith, of hope, and talent.  Trumpets sing in the triumph over suffering. Overthrowing the masquerade that bled from the walls of the mask like venom from fangs....

The Ego of Man This ego, this thing, this voice that pleasures in the destruction of self. It whispers with naive tendencies. It tells you to hide, when you are shy. It speaks that you are to weak, to frail to speak up, that doing so, you will look a fool. That you will become the outcast like a lame child to war. This ego, it inflates the ideals of man. Pleasuring it self with pain, or the eccentric greed of flesh. Telling one to dress in attire to be presentable when one is working to sweat. It tells the fragile ego of a man, to strain himself, though injury may incur. It tells the woman, her hair is one inch too short, one inch too long. No man will adore such a look, change it quick. It tells the woman, that her make up is too much, to little. It tells them to look pretty, though she already is. This ego, it pulls the heart of man, like oceans pulled by the moon. Often it spreads itself like a virus, undetected, recognized as a simple protein of the body. Only later, t...

The Travels of Barren Darkness Why do I find myself between these insensate states of lull?  These heavy lethargic waves hold me breathless with each moment. My shore appears further and further as I struggle to swim myself to its hold. Many speak of this feeling as a haze, a dark cloud strangling their thoughts till they cease the want to think. Leaving them barren to guilt, feasting on sadness as if that is all there is to set upon their plate.  Their tears fall with each meal and hydration of the soul becomes forgotten. Truthfully, I believe many, such as myself, find a strange comfort in this distant field of sorrow. We enjoy the encrusted trees that wilt to even the slightest breeze. We find an odd beauty to the screaming of soils.  The iridescent lighting holds us mesmerized. The moon gazed in the infestation of darkness delights our creative will to build something from it.  Though we may plunge to the deepest caves of this grievous land...

Darling, Love Again Darling cry no more, for he deserves no tears of yours. Though agony may have found place in your heart, the wonders of love still await you. A man of loyalty, of constant faith awaits your hand. Be still, be patient, but while you wait. Become consumed in your existence. Find where you belong within, search no storms outside of yourself. Cry if you must, but cry to grow, swing in the branches of life. Be gentle to your soul, but become not the most agreeable in the room. Be steady in the awaking of your heart. For many waves shall wish to drown you, be not worried for shore. For much food swims beneath you, be skillful in the survival of your desires. Cease not the reaching of your goals and settle in fear of the spinning hands. There is no wrong in wishing for love, for living for what binds us. For what creates a growing earth. And though upon your journey, your streets may be empty. Hugged in barren trees and a somber haze, carry on. For there is mag...

Our Many Ghosts  A puff of smoke billowed from beneath the door, it flowed with the iridescent lighting that subtly pierced the cracks of the door. My eyes locked to this privy moment. As the smoke rose, an eerie presence approached the air before me. I could feel my skin wishing to curl up from my bones. But something kept me moving forward, I could not deny the thrill this moment was giving me. And as I advanced my steps in a quiet methodical manner, I saw shadows cutting off what little light escaped framing of the entrance before me. The closer I got, a strong scent coiled up my nose. It smelled of sour milk, iron, and burning hair. My throat curdled with the instinct to reject such a smell. So I covered my nose with my shirt, even then, I could smell the aroma. But it was almost palpable between the scent of my cologne and my own scent. But still, I gagged slightly with each approaching second. The closer I got, the thicker the smoke became. Its almost, as if it ...