Micah Park Biffle

We Prepare Ourselves   We prepare ourselves in the rising sun or the sinking moon. We wake either in preparation of sadness or joy. Allowing the flakes of our agony to be our weather or the light of our hearts be our path. We prepare ourselves as we see ourselves.  Creating visions of rotting flesh or growing bones of strength. We sink or we rise with each waking morning. Sparking our day to begin, whether it be in the shadows of our pain or in the smile of our joy. We prepare ourselves with how we think.  We battle with instinct, to shrivel or fight. Allow burdens to be our predators or our prey. Shedding our fur to lighten our load, or hold dear to the dreary cold. We are what we design in the thrills of our being.  Lecture with care for the mind follows well. Seeking shelter from any enemy, even ourselves. We must learn to prepare for ourselves. We are quick addicts to pain but slow to happiness, to gratitude. For it is easier to crumble under pre...

A View That Changed His Mind I opened the door to an abandoned church, it was just before sunrise. As I opened the door a swarm of doves came flying out. I was quickly caught off guard by the unsuspecting flock. But in the short stint of startled fear I regained my composure quite swiftly. I realized what an alluring moment it was to be a part of this. An almost fantasy like moment, one you would read in a book. It was amazing, not because the doves were beautiful in their own. But everything that was captured within it. The church itself of a true piece of architectural beauty. Each stone was perfectly placed to create a very divine symmetry. The stained glass windows embraced the light with such glory; reds, blues, and yellows bent through the windows with perfection. An array of shapes and figures were graciously melded into the glass. They almost appeared to be as if they were alive but frozen within the colors of the glass. Even the entrance itself held a mighty glori...

Waking To Magic I woke to magic, to stars falling, to the moon rushing with water, and the trees singing. I stood still for only a moment, before I felt my heart leap. It struck my ribs; pulling me forward. I took a step, and as I did, the world around me became animated. The scenery entwined like a dream.  Colors flew from my fingers like beams of light. Cliff sides swayed like grass in the wind. I reached out, I touched the moon. The water upon it's rugged terrain felt cool. I cupped it in my hands and I drank it. Upon the touching of my lips, my tongue, I became clouded in sorrow. But I could feel joy speak from these enchanted waters as well. As the water rushed down my throat; tears emptied from my eyes in silence. I knelt to the ground placing my hand upon the grass. As I did, it suddenly wrapped around my hand, but with a gentle displacement. It was as if it could feel my agony, like it knew my pain. I carefully pulled my hand from the grass and glided it ...

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...

An Unfortunate Story   His slumber is deep, his heart is light. But in the midst of a midnight hour, a knock reaches his door. He quickly wakes from the resounding sound of the knock. His eyes slowly adjust to the pitch black surroundings. He turns to the left side of his body, reaching into the darkness feeling for a candle. In his blind state upon the dark night, he finds the candle at the edge of his night stand. His steady but somewhat worrisome tact, he almost knocks the candle from its rightful place. But he catches it with the embrace of his index and thumb. He reels it in with slight struggle and sits up in bed.  Again, he hears the knock. His head promptly turns toward the noise. He stills himself as he listens for the knock once more. But it ceases, and as the silence coats his home in an eerie hold. He leans to his left once again and opens the drawer to his night stand. A distinct sound of old wood composes itself from the drawer.  Onc...

The Worship Of Idols  And as the moon rises your eyes become elated in the verses of others. You scour the pages before you, in addiction to escape your tedious life. Finding pills of dopamine behind each moment spent idolizing the breath of others. Knowing every detail of the wealthy, the famous, and degenerates of reality. Combing their bodies with your thoughts. Wishing to mimic their demeanor, their exact presence, only to find no solace behind close eyes. And as you drift to the deepness of deceitful fantasies, you swallow the lies you tell yourself. Bleeding the selfish blame of what surrounds you. Calling out for an answer as you question with a frothing mouth of pity, "Why does this immense burden of haze snuff the flames of my once blazing soul? Why am I forsaken, but they are dealt in Abundance? " Be ware, for the whole story is never told. You hold no gratitude for the breath that fills your lungs. You walk with no humble opinions, you scrap your ton...

Facebook A Spineless Beast  You spineless beast, you coward. Bleeding your words from behind curtains of lies. Traveling with baggage that burden you, much uneasy to each train you ride. But much could whisked away to the emptiness and never spoken of again. But you dribble your tasteless tongue with pity. Covering your lips in dark plaster, a substance you created. Drawing upon whomever will listen, whomever will coddle you with showers of pity. Filth ridden are you, disgust is what you paint. But you care not, you are an addiction in yourself, in your own false righteous pleas. Cawing like a crow upon a thin branch. Scouring for trash, for any sustenance that be ill to your gut. So that you may roll in complaints and become a creature of suffering. Aching in the sight of others, echoing in your oh so terrible existence. Appealing to those who pour with empathy, who's pores live for the seeping of helping others, though those they help may be treacherous in action. Y...

An Average Man, For The Extraordinary  An average man striving for an extraordinary life.  All he wants is to leave behind the mundane struggles one has in the pains of life. To not have to look over his shoulder from the stresses of bills. Never having to worry if his transportation will get him to his destination. Never having to listen to the sounds of his engine as if death could be bearing down upon it.  The simplistic troubles of life add to a heavy burden. Turning one from a smile, to a drudging frown through the thickets of hell. This man, is only looking to be extraordinary in his mind, to find himself becoming to his world. To be free of the ill thoughts of struggle. Feeling taut between the choice to push further, or fall to that which presses back.  Falling back to the ways of forgetting all things great. To consume the spirits of man and drink silly, till all burdens seem lost. Thinking this though, is not what he wants. He wants to b...

This Emerald Glow Has An Empty Soul  I look in the mirror and no longer do I see the eyes of emerald glow. I see, a shriveled mass of flesh and bone. Pathetically portraying what I once was. Now, all that lays before me is a desolate shell, a hollow canvass that echoes like the ocean. But I amass no creatures within, no creations to be found. I have withered in my possession of self. I have become complacent in my doings and derailed myself from action. I have crashed upon an empty shore, only to stare in desperation that a wind will carry me home. But I am no fool, I know no wind will carry my feet or will lift my wings. I have consciously forsaken my path in pursuit of ill pastime. I am far from the words I speak, I have skipped the beats of my heart. And now listen to the dull voices in my head. Sloth, has overcome my willingness to be. I have ruptured the beautiful landscape that was before me. And I have left it, in a pollution of stagnate thought.  These f...

The Desert Of A Grudge  The sand hails its presence with a mighty wind. The sounds of tumble weeds bristle along the desert stones as rough hands hold to cold steel. fingers grip with intensity, as brass is sent into a chamber for its final descent into flesh. The sun sits high in the sky with a ghostly silhouette between the horizon and clouds. Its heat scorches with envy, as if jealous to never step foot upon land. And as the sun hangs in its envious state, two men steel for steel, stare with much grim. Their faces scuffled and dry from the harsh desert heat. Their lips cracking from the absents of hydration. Their teeth tinted in yellow from cigars and whiskey. And though they stand ready to die, neither wavers in fear. No trembling of hands, no anxious welts appear upon their face. Their eyes steady in the moment, ready for the end, ready to commit to the hands of death. All is silent in this moment as the two stare with no intent to move any further. Vultur...

Check me out on  Facebook Nostalgia Is But A Brute A breeze passes with gentle intentions. An aroma pursues the breeze with nostalgia, lifting me to a memory long ago. I knead it like dough, though I know I should let it go. For it is but a memory that floods with woe. It is an echo, left to the hollow lands of my mind, never to regrow. For those lands are the shattered, the broken, the lands that left me narrow in sight. Pecking at my soul like dead flesh for a crow. And though it may be a beautiful and birght, its drips of sorrow and lies with tragedy. And in this memory of this blissfully painful scent. I tiptoe, upon a scenario, I swore to never bring breath, as if I owe. And nostalgia, is but a false euphoria, a placebo. Leading one to a rodeo of emotional harrow, clambering to elegance, like the notes of a crippled piano. But I am foolish upon this memory, for I chamber it to my life like romance, call it my Romeo. And in it I die, I fall bleak to the o...

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...