Micah Park Biffle

Do you Live on Exacts?  Today I had a thought, something that really struck my thinking. We are constantly in the vortex of what we think should happen. We often disappoint ourselves because things did not go our way or were somehow taken from us.  We look to things in the world as exacts. We see colors right, we see blue or white. We know one hundred percent what color they are. We see a building, we know it is a building. We pick up a book, we know there is a beginning and an end.  There are boundless exacts in our world, in the physical world that is. But there are no exacts in our lives, in our actions, in the daily process of every second. We can plan way ahead, we can take every precaution possible. To gain the results we want.  But no matter what we do, we may not get the exact results. We often place the expectation of ourselves and others as exacts. We often set ourselves up for constant disappointment and failure. Failure in the sense that we d...

 The Endeavors shall Reward  Its is easy to fall behind, to let things get away from you. One minute you are ahead and the next, things come crashing down. Now you are in a rubble of stress and trying to compile everything to where you can at least start to organize.   Then, when you start to organize, you realize you have missed a few more things. You fall behind  even more. Anxiety starts to manipulate your thoughts into wild distortions. You now feel even more stressed, for a moment you thought you were almost back in order.   But a wolf came by, while you were busy rebuilding your barnyard only to find that sheep missing from your herd. You find the blood, but no victims. You now panic, as you have lost a piece of your resources. You feel the world around you constrict like a rope tightening around your throat.   The clouds above turn grey, it begins to rain. You become seemingly uncomfortable. You want to break down, to fall apart and l...

It is Time To Let Go  It's time to let it all go. Pack the bags of the past, toss them to the river banks. Let them float away, never to be heard again. Let the mistakes that burden your soul find refuge in the clouds, away from the heart. Away from the prying eyes of pride and ego.  It is time to be bold in the fear of failure. To rise up against the howling winds and cut yourself a path to the highest mountain. Allow your wings to spread, it is time. It is time to let the faces of your misery be washed from your mind, from your soul.  You are moving on, the tears that now fall from you, are tears to keep going. To press beyond the apathetic dwellings of suffering, of tragedy. You are human, as are we all, set aside perfection, and seek improvement.  Put down the idol of the flesh and find idols of the heart. Preach to your soul, not your skin. Cleanse the bloodied floors upon which you walk. Allow the stains to remain as reminders, as are scars. Let the...

Your Dream, Fight For it  Do not run from your dreams no matter what. Do not, do not.....become the pale victim of others thoughts. Don't fall to their testing of your weakness, the bitter cold is what they feel. They only wish the same for you. But I warn you, when you reach your dream, that is when the true test of you comes into play. For getting to the dream is a struggle, but to maintain it, keep it. Is even more difficult than building it. For even a skyscraper when built, can fall to the opening of the earth. You must hold your dream as you hold your heart, protected beneath the foundation of your love. Of the ribs that bear protection against ailments. Yet, open, beating, feeling, giving to the world a piece of you. Sharing your dream so that others may see it.  So that others may understand they too can achieve such goals.  Maintain your dream, work on it daily, hourly. With every thought you must manifest it as if it's falling away. That y...

Our Self-Loathing  Why do we do what we know will harm us? What is the joy of placing ourselves in agony? We so often play the victim of our heads. Stretching our days as far as we can; just to avoid the waking of the morning. To avoid the repercussions of our lousy ruling. But it is inevitable, that upon our waking, we shall regret last minute slumber. Too afraid to sacrifice the ails of our own doings for the gratification of the instant; of things that only consume us to decay. To not let go of what brings us meager comfort. Bringing atrophy, not only to the body, but to the mind. Till we are but walking ruins of disgust, that not even ourselves find joy in company. We elect food that rots our teeth over foods that bring us strength. We become sheep to our weakened ego and desire that which it favors. Feasting till our bowels become irritated with the digestion of the simplistic. As we watch our guts expand like the rapacious pig; ending each day in the misery of o...

Make Not a Decomposing Heart Hearts will come and hearts will go, some will be welcoming. Some will be harsh, plucking yours as if a cherry; feasting upon it for the delight of their own appetite. Savoring the nectar that flows upon their lips like a wine cast from the ages. But yours shall always stay, and it may harden through the harsh travels ahead. Maybe it already has. Maybe it weighs of stone and beats of tar. But it is your heart, and no others can understand it. You must learn to preach to it, spill your pain to the vastness before you. Write it upon the walls of your ribs. Allowing no wounds to fester, be not a melancholic wanderer. Ending dead in actions of others, as if a counter part of Poe. Life is no downward slop. It is a path of treacherous and loving things. It will bleed you dry if you let it. It will bury you beneath the soils of earth before you even die. It can cause disdain upon those around you, though you be the sickness that ill's you. But lif...

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...

The Angst of Success and Popularity There is this angst to complete it now. To bring forth the riches that others posses. To force ones self into the putrid greed of material. To breathe in the vile waves of the rotten and live in the physical. I am saddened by this wish of existence. This existence to find one in the overwhelming need to present ones self as if to be a king or queen. But know nothing of how to delegate their actions, their emotions. They hold dear to show fashion, that supposedly makes them tingle, makes them smile. But dreary is the possessor of the concrete, the possessor who lives for nothing other, than the popularity of self. Shadows rot the cavities of their soul, but they speak of it not. They latch image, an image that is baked in the sugars of man. Only to be swallowed by the naive, the young, the reckless. The teachers of wisdom, the elders of experience, and ears to listen, have been plucked. Few gardens grow the willingness to be patient, to l...