Micah Park Biffle

  Step Out! Out, Out from the gloom, The obscure breath of doubt Take stone, break thy yoke, Let trouble fall, let shoulders be lifted, Flow, to the heavens Be but strain no more, Open wide, thy mouth, Let prayer fill thy tongue Be parched no more. Stillness in heart  Though seas roar like lions, And beast snarl among mist, Step,  Out! To mercy of life, Ease, be reborn. Let no shackle of past Be meaning for tear Take hammer,  Fracture the cumbersome Be feet of swift Fill your days with strides, Though dunes widen And heat scorches thy soles. Out, Step out from thy fear, There is another to call To breach, To reach your heart  Though thee be of man, Let not thy eyes of flesh Be the dealings of truth, Wander, In aspect to be whole Be not the coward hidden in cave, A creature curled  Like frightened doe, For he walks beside thee, Like king among his men, A sword of greatness Sways from his belt, Ready, To swing against thy enemies, A presence more bold  T...

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...

 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...

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...

The Travel Of Self  I look upon this gaping reservoir of nature. It's bold, unexplored by the metal fingers of man. A silent toast to the beauty that exists in our very backyard. The clouds, hovering at the tips of mountains like a kiss upon the cheek. As the clouds settle upon the horizon like a canvass of white. Hues of gracious complexions form with tranquility. As I carry my eyes across this mingling of natural architectural scene. I find my heart in a composition of words, trying to truly feel this moment, to interpret. But I can find nothing to equate this. There is no opening of language that can flood such a sight; bringing it to the reaches of readers, nor tongue. It is something that must be explained in the presence of experience. Of venturing to quiet hills of earth and finding the silent view so few see. I am taken deeply by this picturesque moment; for it has been twelve months since I have seen such allure, such refinement. Now upon my return, I have ded...

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...

We Are Beyond Our Flesh  Its as if I am but an extension to my actions. That what I choose and what I do, are truly not mine. I have felt the darkest dark's, and the brightest brightest. I have wallowed in the silence of the damned and laughed among the angels. And in all these strange wanderings, I have come to see that I am not me. That I am not the skin upon my flesh nor the bones that keep me upright. I am more than the eyes that sit inside my head like beads. I am more than the fingers that plunge into the creation of writing. There is much I cannot explain, nor do I wish to. But I feel as if every moment I am awake. There is a force that wishes to pull me. That wishes to see me design, mend, and be. I have dreamt the most vile visions and dreamt of the most beautiful views. But in these dreams I feel as if they are not truly me. That it is not the nerves that spark the thoughts, the visions. But that they are creation beyond my control, beyond what I see. For too ...

The Thoughts Of Me Do not fault me for the mistakes I burden. Do not negate my word from the scars upon my soul. There is much beneath this fiery shell that heats the skies like the sun. I am more than the battered dreams that collapsed upon my broken lips and traveling fears. I am more than the narrowing paths that you wish to burn. Bridges have fallen and I have conceived new connections. Many before me have found solace in the broken and so have I. I have abandoned the treasures of relationships that pervert my words and degrade my thoughts to save my ship. For no ship can rescue if it sinks. And no soul can be salvaged with retched thoughts of pity. I have found recovery in embracing the winds of my torment and the blistering reigns of pain. These are but thoughts I have nourished and will continue to raise with each new breath, in each grain of passing sand. Do you embrace your pain or leave it to the shallow whims of pity?  Thank you for reading, if y...

Follow me on  Facebook Love Had Passed In The Night We pass by in the night. No longer meeting with lips and composing songs or our souls. We had met in a despicable time, where my heart was dipped in the residue of animosity. And charred with the flames of suffering. I had dwelled for far too long in my own undoing. Drinking with selfish intent to drown my pain.  But like an illness, one cannot be cured by standing in the cold. And that is what I did, I stood, frozen in the cold. Twisting words like wire, creating a framework of my own lies. And foolishly I died, I let my soul collapse under the weight of my pity. As I hung from a cliff with angered patience, to be saved by another, when the ground was beneath my feet.  What a fool was I, playing tricks in my own mind. When seeing you, should have set me free, gave me hope in the darkest of nights. For your eyes captured perfection, your skin, smooth and golden like molasses. Your lips, sculpted upon y...

Grab a copy of my book  A Man's Traveled Heart A Stranger Among Himself  He sits alone among most the year. Scratching at the roof of his thoughts like a man barred to jail. Marking each day as it passes, hoping that someday all this will go away. That all the misery and suffering that is trapped inside, will fade like winter into the mouth of summer, bitter, but sweet, in the change. And in these passing days and the carving of upon his thoughts. He feels hollow, empty, like a vase meant for flowers. But a vase left to its cavernous body upon too many flaws. Though some hands draw close to it, they peel away with disgust. Almost as if to be repulsed from its design. And this is truly how he feels. And within crowds he is but a stranger, maybe a wave or two from acquaintances are tossed like meaningless words. And then he fades away from the crowd, back to the wall, eyes pressed into the ground like heavy stones. His heart racing upon any who approach, as...

Sacrificing A Kingdom, For an Island of Freedom  So, I am moving from my current place into a much different setting. I have lived in my current dwelling for almost five years. But now, my money, my time, my sanity, and my comfort are being wasted here. I feel stale and feel my soul being burdened with my reluctance for change. My financial situation is on a bit of a crutch, but nothing that can't be fixed with a simple down grade from where I am. For, far too long have I been planting my hard earned money into place that brings more stress than pleasure. The constant statements that exceed my pockets, well beyond what I truly believe should be paid for such living conditions. But, I cannot make improvements with disparaging comments upon my living space. So, I have decided to move in with two of my finest friends. One whom works for company that pays him well. And he is stretched with comfort of financial well being. While, I am skirting the prerequisite for becomi...

Follow me on Twitter They Swim Between the Beats of Our Hearts.  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 m...

This Is My End  This could be my end, my end where my breath ceases to weave with the wonders of life. This could be where my words no longer linger in the depths of my heart. Where my shadows finally find the bitter nuggets of my regret, and devour them with thrill. I have many regrets, and though they haunt, I have found them to muse my words. To bring extraordinary thought to mind. Creating immense designs with the architecture of the soul. Building immortality between the lines of language. This, may be the moment I become ash and am whisked away to the heavens. To see everything or nothing, so be it the wish of God.  And where I end, upon my fall to earth, either in the pleasure of life, or in the misery of my own undoing. Either end, I have kissed the lips of life and danced with the wings of death. I have felt suffering and I lived happiness. I have found love, and I have lost it. I have drank in the spirit of life and been glutton in the spirit of man. A...

Become The Angel You Pray For  Fly fly fly! Fly till your wings can hold you no more. And when you fall, fall with grace, fall knowing you will fly again. Rest your wings upon the clouds of faith. Hold dear your heart to your dreams. Glide across the open oceans of your life and catch the waves head on. Sail bravely against the storms though you may break. And upon breaking, you shall find new ships, new wings, new winds to sail. For nothing new is found in the mundane, in the wreckage of the old. Spark your heart with a kiss for the unexpected, the unknown. Bleed your soul of the old, of the used and stitch what remains with the grace to lift you. You are the ideal being to create your dreams. To build a solid ship that will turn waves of cruel ruin, into gentle ripples of a puddle . Split your oceans in two with the mere faith that you have within yourself, and with that which is intangible. Be the lighting that strikes, but do not strike out of fear. Strike out ...

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...

This Is Me Without Creativity  This is but me without my creativity. My unwillingness to accept that not all days can be filled with perfect brevity. That some days come buried in the not so extraordinary. Where imagination is no longer merry, where my words seem to fall weary. Where I cannot seem to connect my soul to my brain. In a place that I have lost what was once perfect aim. Where words would connect without the a tongue that wishes to complain. This is me without the ability to tame. The ability to connect words that may make one seem insane. But that is where I find words that never sound the same. Where words collide in whirls like tornadoes that are looking to claim. I am not a writer for fame, but a writer to stay insane. To connect words that make me never wish to be plain. To never fall in the sewers of blame and become a dim candle in a forgotten home. This is me without the perfect tone, without the perfection of my fingers laced in chrome. Where I con...

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 ...

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...

I cant be without you, I have found myself lost in thought. Lost in the missing of you, in agony of never hearing your voice. Remember those mornings we would wake, you would smile and I would smile back? We would exchange a kiss as if it was our last. Everything, felt as if it was in place. The world became an adventure, talking brought us excitement. We found joy in the smallest things. Like laying by the fire beneath blankets and talking about our past. Learning about all the stupid quirks we had as we end up falling asleep. We had so much together. Don't Forget to  Subscribe   But now, now I am broken, shattered by the thought of never holding your hand while we walk beneath the moon. I cry, never being able to sing to you, though my voice is terrible. I will never see the sparkle in your eyes just before you laugh, before we kiss. There was magic between us, something that could never be explained. You were music to my ears and paradise to my eyes. You were th...

Will books and reading become obsolete? Growing up a lot has changed since I have been born. I was born 1987, near the end of one of biggest rises in the economy and the massive boost in technology. Internet became accessible in our homes. It allowed people to start connecting with other's around the world. To talk about what ever and whenever. Chat rooms were a huge boost in connections with people, then came video websites. Places like ebaums world. A website dedicated to whatever videos people wanted to upload. Then came YouTube. A company that did a better job marketing and understanding the constant change going on in the world. Soon, Amazon became a huge success and let us not forget cell phones. Cell phones was a huge change for the economy and social life. You could now contact friends and family from practically anywhere you were. It led to what I believe the first major change in how we saw change in efficiency. No longer did you have to wait to call someone you ...