Micah Park Biffle

 Sophia's Love    "Let your umbrella unfold, dance beneath the rain when others won't shelter you with the echoes of love my dear." Her mother said as she kissed her upon the forehead.   Sophia looking up at her mother smiles as she holds her pink umbrella above her head. Her mother, raising up from the kiss takes Sophia by the hand and they begin to walk. Sophia, only five and her father off on a business trip, her mother becomes lonely.   And so they walk, they walk through evenings, mornings, dusk's and dawns. Watching the graceful colors of sunsets and sunrises. Sophia's mother teach's her to admire the colors before them. Not just the wonderful vibrant colors, but also the dull. The gloomy streaks of darkness.   For everything has a purpose in this world. From the thunder storms to clear skies. Sophia, holding her mother's hands as they walk through the rain looks and up and asks, "Mother, why do you cry? Do the colors of this clo...

   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...

 The Day of Valhalla  Winter has scorned our land with bitter winds and even colder grounds. Our crops have withered and soils have been taken by permafrost. We grow hungry in each passing day and our enemy will give us no mercy.   We are surrounded by hills and so we shall see our enemy one day prior to battle. Let the gods be on our side and let war be our passage to Valhalla. We ignite tonight with a ceremony of sacrifice, appease our gods so they may be at our backs in battle.   We only fear that our sacrifice may not be heard, for looking upon our lands it seems that gods have already turned their backs. No winter has ever been so cold, so toxic to our lands. But we lift up this sacrifice with great honor. Spill the blood of this living beast and let our souls be lifted by the gods. May they guide us through battle and if we shall be victorious, allow us an easement of winter's hold.    I take this blade and spill the blood of our sacrifi...

 A Miserable Rhyme     This vastness how it frees the soul. The open plains and seas, carried by a beautiful breeze. One should weep at such beauty. But we are often taken by our own pity. Our eyes shut to what we should truly see.   We bear the ability, to be free, which may be a burden that breaks the mind with ease. If not taken for what we should be. Often buried to flee, beneath the shallow graves of our misery. But mountains scrap the skies, oceans hugs the shore but neither holds envy.   Yet we see another, and our eyes skew so angry, so cocky. For another has what we think is our bounty. And instead of reaching, gaining what we wish with hard work and glee. We tilt the bottle and pour ourselves some brandy. Muddling our hearts. Creating our vision to be cloudy.   Shrouding our soul till our body becomes too heavy. We fall to dark empty allies, searching for bitter pieces we can blame. Building an army of boozy pleads in an explo...

Fall Gloom Beauty of Gray    Death has come upon our summer days. Slain are the days of warm mornings and nights of a cool breeze. We are now upon the lips of fall, slowly consumed till we are in the bitter embrace of winter.  The once open skies are now the victims of the dreary. The frigid gasp of October and the sinking eyes of November. We are now unkindly taken by darkness before our eyes open. The grey skies glaze our souls in the dim.  Our hearts become heavy as the drizzle of sorrowed clouds weep upon our streets. Our steps become cautious as we keep weary to pools of rain. Quickly can our days become uncomfortable as the steady weeping of the sky gives no hope of silence.  But in these bleak and colorless months, there is much between the grey; the cold and frozen. There are colors that only fall can birth. Oranges that cripple a leaf but bring sight to a dying season. There are moments so close to those we love, that summer cringes in jealo...

   French Lilac's   The garden wraps around the home with a captive appearance. It's intrinsically designed pattern gives the home a sense of comfort, swaddled in a maze of French Lilac. As green hedges form accompanying the Lilac, coupled by a pattern of evenly spaced feathery Cabbage Rose's. Their delicate and pronounced appearance give such an alluring feel.  Among the maze of French Lilac's sits calculated in presentation, other wondrous flowers and plants. Small and carefully attended to, are planters giving birth to the natural beauty of nature. This garden is everything and nothing all at the same time.  It holds no real meaning but to grasp the attention of curious eyes. The deeper you travel into the maze the more wonders your senses take in. You find things you have never seen before. You find flowers hidden beneath the trooping of sunflowers as they try their best to be the attention of all.  Their longs necks preceding the dista...

Facing The Ghosts  The breeze on this summers eve is delightful. The moon crests just at the edge of my eyes. Reflecting off the tears of clouds as I stand at the end of the pier. I listen to the trickling of rain as it batters the wood framing of the pier.  The rain brings no cold chill as the air comforts the falling droplets with warmth upon their decent. Everything is perfect, the voice of nature warms my heart. Much as been cumbersome these past days, I stand here in my suit from a days work. An expensive suit I might add. Most would find it foolish to stand beneath the rain near the salted waters. "It will only ruin the suit" they would say.  But as my days have grown so have I. Returning from the war and trying to assimilate back into the world, has not been easy. Europe was hell and Germany was giving us no moment of breath. Many of my friends died before my eyes.  For much of my time home, everything crashed upon me like a tidal wave. Much like...

Ascending Memories  We ascended with our feet upon the ground. Gathering up our thoughts like broken sticks, placing them in our bags to tell of later. We were silent as we climbed, hand in hand, silence at heart. Wearing red to signify the blood of our fallen hearts.  Our eyes reflected of the dark, as the rain poured with misery as we coated our hearts black. Ivory keys of woeful tunes played as we tried to piece ourselves together. We ascended higher and higher, but the terrain only became worse.  Vines bared thorns as roses of translucent petals hung like fingers of relaxed limbs. A few times our flesh came torn by the prick of thorns. The roses took to our blood, and what was once translucent became red.  Once our altitude was beyond the view of earth, the clouds became thick. Dense like the waters of the ocean. The beat of our blackened hearts grew louder through the density of these dreary clouds. We clasped our hands together, as not to lose one ...

Three Red Horses  Three red horses and a horizon to match. A wonderful world, a wonderful sight. But in this beauty, between the glorious light and the everglades of nature, lies something else. Something dark, something sinister. These three red horses ride to the out reach of our vision. We watch them sink the blazing haze of the sun. Becoming nothing but a fading silhouette of elegance. As we watch them fade, the world around us becomes of a fire of its own.  Unwavering anger pours upon our home. It cannot be explained, except that what is happening before us, is the consequence of natures lack of sympathy. It has been nine weeks since a drop of rain has fallen. The animals have fled, even the snakes have found homes elsewhere. We have become barren, we have lived off this land in peace. Yet here we stand, forced to face the rage of earth. It's heart has become heated and it wishes for us to cede to its wild temperament.  Our crops, gone, our hom...

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...

A Bitter Mans Reminder I peer my weary head from the stables of my thoughts. Thinking of the mess that I have created within. As I think, I turn my sorrowed eyes toward my window. Looking through it, I see the sunrise gently cresting over the horizon. But all I can see is a smear of colors, oranges, blues, reds and earth tones. Muddley separated like oils to a puddle. I squint my eyes to focus deeper into the present beauty that births itself to this morning. But like myself, my window is stained, unkempt with grim and grease. I feel myself become sightly disdained to my current status. So like any, whom become uncomfortable in themselves. I lean to the opposite side of my bed and pour myself a warm settled glass of bourbon. A slosh of bourbon escapes from my glass as my hands quiver. I grunt, with no desire to clean my accident. I raise the glass to my lips and stare at the still ever existing hues of light. A small smile escapes me, but it is quickly taken by sadness. Be...