Micah Park Biffle

   A Wanderers Inn   I have been traveling for thirty days. My horses are weak and I thirst dearly for water. My belly aches as hunger constricts my gut. I am fearful of death in such an unsuitable way. I have always seen myself dying in daring act of life.  Be it in war or the saving of a child. Or maybe, even in the defeat of a dragon as I get one last blow with my blade before it strikes me down and it falls to its death beside me. Feeling its last breath of heat roll over my body as our eyes see only our fading souls.  I have always thought my death would be glorious. Yet here I am, traveling alone with no more rations, nor water. My horses no longer walk with fervor but lackadaisical steps. And so I pray to find shelter before the cold takes us. Before the empty plains of barren trees and darkness finds us.  I wish not to be detritus before my days. Decaying slowly to the maggots as my body lays helpless upon the earth. Becoming a gruesome ...

 Holding Dearly    In my arms I hold my wife, her heart silent. Her skin as pale as the snow. She is cold, no longer holding warmth. Her embrace has vanished and her face is no longer familiar. Her lingering soul I feel though, I feel it upon my chest.  I hear her voice speak softly, telling me to let go. But I cannot not. I cannot let such a love vanish so swiftly. This is not how I saw it, this is not how it should have ended. Our souls were meant for the ever lasting.  We were meant to see a thousand sunsets and kiss a thousand moons. Now here I stand, alone in our house, the fire sparking its last coals. Winter settling its arms upon the valley and my breath seeping like mist from the mountains.   Feeling every piece of me crumble like the dying leaf. How pitiful I be, holding dear the lifeless vessel of my wife. I know I need to let her go, I know she is no longer her. But my heart still weeps, a hole has burrowed through my ribs and into m...

 Carry Barden's Tragedy   Everyday Carry Barden lays beneath an old oak with a book in hand. Here eyes are of golden brown and skin of galaxy cream. Her hair hangs like gentle threads of cotton. Everyday her eyes glow as she turns the pages of her book.   She savors every droplet of imagination presented before her. Her hands gentle, tickling the corner of the page just before turning it. Her face explores with vivid expression, no emotion is left without notice.   Tears, smiles, and joyful laughter spring from her. Tension of anticipation clasps to her chest leaving her of shallow breath. Her face with grins with anger as villains swarm many pages of her books. Their deceitful and vile ways plunge Carry into a imaginative rage.  Playing out thoughts as to what she would do. Pretending to conjoin her reality with the book. Stretching her imagination not only within the book but within her world. Creating side stories in her head. She even plays...

A Fairy-tale Lasting   Her lips upon mine, our sultry passion leading me to the catacombs of bliss. Falling through the tendrils of this moment envelops my once shivering bones in a clothed warmth. Heating my core like coals beneath timber.    My soul flourishing to the wild crisp embrace of our skin. Our bodies entwined in a succulence of love. A raging affection seeps from our ribs like the sun dripping from the moon. We collide with such fervor that the stars become jealous.   Their white bodies boil in tones of crimson. The planets weep as they are left desolate to the blankness of space. They are cold, frigid, to the empty void as we align ourselves with such devotion.    We beam with brightness upon the darkest of tombs in the graves of our hearts. Our once dry grooves of existence now flood with phenomenal brilliance. We bloom like wild flowers at upom highest peak breaching through the haze of clouds.    Our fi...

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. ...

   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...

 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...

  A Genius Held by Fear Therby is a man of science, of thoughts and genius. Every night he delves into his mind and plucks from it new ideas. He would plant each new idea onto paper. Quickly skimming through his mind like a comb through hair.  Every now and then something would stick. Something would become tangled in his mind. An idea that he would have to fight to pry from his entwined neurons. As they send an encrypted idea from all parts of his mind.  Shooting like a needle pricked upon the finger. On such ideas he would find himself lost from all others things. Lost from his daily errands, meetings, or any such other endeavor he would have. Many times, Therby would forget to arrive for doctor appointments for his treatments.  Treatments for his deteriorating body. He was diagnosed with Bright's Disease. The treatments given were opiates and the occasional blood letting. But Therby preferred finding himself enthralled in solving the idea that would ra...

A Daughters Escape    "Come on, get the notes right, you only have one more day to the show. Father won't be pleased if you end up getting kicked out the show."  Lily turns her head back toward her sister who stands behind her. Lily's fingers remain positioned upon the harp. The sun glazes the room through thin white shades of the music room. It's dark floors resonate with a cool feel of a summereve as the sun rests upon it.  Lily, now looking to her sister Ashley, smirks and says, "Guess I will be getting kicked out, I'd rather be disliked by fathers so called friends than do something I find no passion in. Father only wants me to play because all his friends youngest daughters play instruments, but I don't want to." Lily drops her arms from the harp and stands up and turns toward Ashley.  Ashley, standing next to the window, the sun glares off her pearl skin like light upon soft ivory keys. She looks to Lily, places her hands upon h...

   My Execution of Love Do as you wish, this heart is a traveler of darkness. Scars have found home upon my heart like termites to rotting foundation. Day by day my heart slowly crumbles, it is nothing without you. Without us.   I am catatonic to love. Frozen in the position of melancholy. A possession of dark clouds have gathered in my mind. I wear a cloak of obsession, an obsession to drown this catastrophic wound.   My floors are covered in lust as I pounce from lips to lips. Seducing the hearts as bleak as mine. But no matter the sedation, I can hear you, feel you. My eyes are green, envious of your ease to cope; to find another.   I have shriveled to bone, to dust. Place me in your hand and I will be blown to the faintest wind. Wild images of darkness shade my thoughts. But if I had the chance to tell you of these, would you even care or would you do as you did when you left?   Walking in blankness as if nothing had meaning. It hurt, our...

 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 ...

From Strangers to Love  "My lady, may I take your hand?" Faye paused for a moment, looking the gentlemen before her up and down. She showed no interest as her eyes steered across his body. He wore a tuxedo, a black tuxedo with thin white leather gloves. His hair was pressed back like a wave.  It glistened with a tint of blonde against the festive lights that stood lit around the courtyard. The moon hung with a delicate tone of blue. The stars shone with magnificence, so clearly they could be seen, any sailor could have found his way among them.  After she looked him over she perked her lips, opened her purse and pulled out a stick of lipstick. Faye wore a black dress with a red silk rose sewn above her right breast. She took the lipstick and pressed it to her lips.  A dark crimson stained her puckered lips. As she painted her lips of an alluring red, she paid no attention to the gentlemen before her. Her eyes were kept strictly to the small h...

My Field of Withering Roses   It has grown dim, everything is turning to shades of bland hues. Absence of color shrouds my thinking. My eyes no longer see the beauty that once cascaded my vision. I am alone, walking quietly through a field of withering roses.  The sky is white, the ground is dark. My own flesh is toned with color of stones. I feel heavy, restless as I feel myself sink to the desperate empty calls of my heart.  I thought by now, I would transcend past my stresses, my anxiety. I thought, I would be the one to bear the answers to the broken, to the bitter of my friends, my family.  But, I am still but a ghost in the halls of time. Ticking away slowly as I pride myself in my work but see no return for hope. Seeing no light to shine upon the freedom of my constant tension of mind. Straining my heart with burdens I am falling.  Tripping over the slow pace of change. I preach often of patience but my steps are becoming greatly demand...

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...