Micah Park Biffle

The Selfish in the Eternal "Forgive me, forgive me!" James cries out as she dissolves from his view like a ghost to the tales of a story. His tears, as sorrowed as the death of love. He reaches out as his steps become heavy, but she is too far and his heart is too heavy.  "Why do you say nothing, why leave me like this...whyyyyyy?!" He bellows as not even a breath is heard from her lungs. Her steps as subtle as a stroll against a lake. His eyes as wallowed as a raging ocean.  His body tumbles like stone shattering through a hollow earth. Everything around his becomes ruins, shrapnel of pain. "What have I done?" He says as tears collide against his hands. "What have I done?"  His knees compressed to the paved road. She, as distant as a star, so bright yet far from anyone's embrace. He is lost for words now as he begins to feel clutched by a cold gritty grasp. He lays knelt in his pain as a brisk breath falls upon him.  Wafting a...

 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...

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...

The Perfect Beauty   She is perfect, built from the gods and birthed from the pearl of Poseidon. She is everything any man any god would want, would crave. Upon her birth she already stands among the gods as something extraordinary.  Her locks of red hair sway like flowers to ever soothing currents of the sea. Her skin, like the white pearl of the womb she broke from. Her face, perfectly spaced from great admiration of her father, no mistake was given.  She walks the earth in perfection. Each step she takes, beautiful flowers bloom, birds sing, and the world stares in awe. She resembles what all Beings of any life wish to be. Never silent, she always finds reason to speak.  If she be not speaking, you can find her singing. She walks the many cities of the world with absolute confidence. But as time progresses she still holds no hand for marriage. Yet, she continues to stride herself with grace and perfection.  Every city displays a statue of he...

Your Heart is A Battleground   You're heart is a battleground. Wounded with misery, streaming down the corridor of your walls like paint drying upon canvass, a crimson hue. Echoes of warriors yell from the suffering you have beard and shall bear.   It beats with vigor but holds graves of many. Transformed in each battle you have lost something, but gained much more. Though you are a rhythm of pain, there is beauty in the gloom. The fields at which you fought now spread with golden wheat.  Eagles soar in the fresh winds in the feasting of varmints as you move on. Brave, unwavering to the endless bouts of suffering. Unsheathing your blade from the vanquishing of your enemies. You have  bled love from each wound and have filled the veins of your flesh with heartbreak.  But have fought your way to cleanse the polluted rivers of your heart. You have never been silent in the abuse of self, nor in scene of your enemies attempts to murder...

The Madness of A Needle and Thread Needle and thread, needle and thread. He takes the needle stitching pieces like madness. Suiting his desire to be a shadow of himself. His lack of esteem has driven him to the far woods past the Willow Ravine. Where no dare to step, for evil sleeps among the rotting trees. His eyes as pitch as the darkness that dwells in the woods. He speaks among himself as if he is not alone. His home is but a vacant shelter made of stone; the former residence to the one whom was never known. Its now brittle architecture stands like crooked spoiled teeth. Eroding with each passing wind.  His heart anxious, pulsating like a symphony of wild violins, strumming as if disaster hangs at his neck. His skin, a pasty ivory, for sun no longer settles upon his flesh. He paces his mind with horrific tendencies as he strings himself a desperate shell of his departed self. His grotesque need to tether the limbs of what he is not; only voids his appetite t...

A Dying Heart of The Mind  What is it.....this incessant....what is this incessant ache that howls in the eve of my mind? This inane smog of emotion that jerks at the very pulse of my soul. I cannot find reason behind it, at least, that is what I wish to think. I pretend that what I feel is the result of being, that what I have become is it. That no matter the sprouting of my roots; I will never bear soil with another. That I will simply falter to the settling of what is before me. Some nights I am but a spider; clinging to the walls, waiting for what ever nourishment may fall to my web. Allowing me to nibble at a meager feast to keep me sustained. My bed side has grown in size, but has shrunk in comfort. My eyes, always stained in the dreary, the gloom of empty arms. Even the moon finds my presence petty, its tongue disgusted in the paltry of my existence. My narrow view of my heart presents me with no relief. I lay trifled in my own design of a perverse maze. Distrac...

No Longer The Hollow Doll She is no longer the hollow doll that sat upon her shelf. Those tired eyes that caved with empty darkness no longer curse her. She sits no more lonely in the corners of her room. Fidgeting at the strands of her hair. She now lathers her mane in the warmth of water and wondrous grace of castile. Her eyes glow with the brilliance of candy apple green. Her lips coated now in the blush of red. She wears her shoulders with confidence. Her chest swells with wind as each breath is inhaled with courage, as well as exhaled in spirit. Her skin is no longer the complexion of a paled witch. Nor does it flake of the dead as if to be the home of the deceased. It no longer crawls with irritation of pestering itch. It holds now an amber haze, it glistens in under the sun as it is kissed by rain. It lives upon her as if she is held by a god of bronze. Her walk no longer swamped in the eager thoughts of meekness. Her strides reach with perfect poise. Each step peel...

Swing From The Willow  Swing from the Willow, find peace in the rain be no stranger to silence. The wolves prowl but you bleed with no fear. The roots from which you stand are yours, embraced, entwined in the essence of your breath. Your eyes have seen the darkness. You have felt the presence of the unholy, of wretched suffering. You have walked amidst the narrow of death and life, living between in a hollowed bosom. But now you have bound yourself to the exploration of ego. You leave no tears to fall in vein. Your soul reaches heaven, as does it hell. But you are no fool to the devil, and are no virtue to heaven. Your lips are turned inward, only to uncoil in speech that you find worthy. Your eyes give you sight no more to the bleak. The haze that follows you no longer blurs your vision to its ever anxious dwelling. You breathe with purpose and give no moment without grace. And though you are wrapped in the unfortunate of scars, you praise them each in their own way....

A Lie of Weakness There, at the edge of the dirt road upon this solitary night; she stood, silent, gazing toward my vacant existence. She stood beneath a willow tree, that held itself at the foot of the river. And there, our eyes met with fervor. Hers, shimmered like the lighting of the moon, cold, alone, but mesmerizing. And as I stared, I was drawn, like that of new found doe to its mother. I craved her like the succulence of fruit. I felt her presence pull me like gravity, waving me in, towing me out, like that of an evening tide. And as I approached, I felt this brisk summer night, begin to caress me with warmth. A dry warmth I should say, a warmth, I had never felt before. With each approaching step I became deeply enthralled in this curiosity of what forges such heat, on such a raw bliss-less twilight.  And as I loomed my hollowed bones toward her, the warmth began to rise. Sweat seeped from my brow, but I pay it no mind. For it deserved no regard of mine, f...