Micah Park Biffle

Our Freedom Here we stand, at the jaws of tyranny; brave, bold, ready to sacrifice. To free our souls from the binds of royal rule. Too long have we been the sheep of the foul, of the fraudulent virtues of power. Ceding our work for the masses. Oppressing us from the very air we breathe. Forcing us to the belly of silence as we become slaves to rulers, to greed. But now, now we are together, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Ready to give it our all. To give our destitute souls the chance to live. To bring each man and woman a chance to change their life. To breed their dreams as they please and build a family of moral ground. We shall fight for this land and give our people hope. Putting the glory of our god before us and the love our family in our hearts. Our people, are our family. We must be vigilant today, for the enemy seeks to devour us. To force us to our impaling, to sever our heads from our bodies. Fear is their strategy, but heart is ours. For the ...

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 othe...

A Curiosity of Tragedy  Young, and tragedy was is his bitter friend. Hand in hand they walk as they looked to the streets for vigor thoughts of death. Inspiration at the hands of the grotesque and the undesirable compositions of life. He found it strange no one desired to look deeper into what evoked fear and disgust. But strangely he was, much like a doctor is drawn to the speculation of sickness. Even at a young he would find deceased insects and animals and examine them. He would strike poems from their monstrous poise. Those in the surrounding streets found him odd, many would cross the street if they saw him approaching. But he paid them no mind for his thoughts were else where; dancing in the smog of sewers as he looked for new things of death. Scouring trees for rot or rats that had been feasted upon by their own kind. He found these things spectacular, they were something to be marveled. For what brings such an outcome of the living? Why must all come to an ...