Micah Park Biffle

   An Artist's Touch    How lovely she be, her hair curling beneath her blossoming hat. The gentle kempt design of each strain. The dark glow against the morning sun as her dark hair rests upon her shoulders. Dangling like threads of silk. Divine I say, absolutely divine.   Her eyes, their complexion spill with the delicacy of the soul. Spilling like colors of the morning sun against a glistening sea. I can feel her presence even when we are distant in stare. Their vibrant collection of life, how much she has lived in such little space, such short time.   My brush, carefully stroking against the canvass with passion. Allowing her existence to become the reality of this art. Her art, her, she is everything. How wild her curves play against the contrast of this world. Nature bares much, but there is no competition to be had.  For even nature shows she'd be foolish to rival such beauty. Her skin, smooth as the melting light from an evening mo...

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 upo...