Micah Park Biffle

Unsustainable Victims  From place to place: path to path, home to home, forest to forest we roamed. No true land to call home, but home was with each other, no matter where we were. Stopping down dark paths in the night, setting camp, playing music beneath the studded stars of the sky.  We were a family of many and a family of the unconventional. Never weighed by the grasp of the civility of society. We were always on the out, on the edge, standing, watching; tempted. At least, I was tempted.  My family never stayed in one spot too long. Never embedded in society, created us not to be welcomed in an abrupt fashion. Either pushed from land by owners, park enforcement, the law, or even animals. My family lived in the wild of the earth.  I must say, in the honesty of it all, we were not the best of people. I was taught to steal, to trick, to lie, so that we may put food on our tables. We were great at hunting, but it is difficult to feed a caravan of hundred...

Do We Know Happiness  The deeper I dig into this conscience, the darker the world becomes. Prickling with dismal allegories, and I can't help but feel as if there is no true happiness. That this word, "happiness," is but a false manipulation of the mind in the masses to carry out malicious intent.  To feed the society a spoonful of an abstract meaning, which I find to be unattainable. Even if one finds themselves in the embrace of "happiness," foolish acts are made. Arbitrary decisions drag out an in almost sadistic undertaking by the ego in an almost manic state. Rising one up only to drop them further, to press them into crises when anything fails. "Happiness;" what truly is it when we give it a name, a name to something that cannot be explained in words? No matter how many words we use to explain it, we often respond with, "I can't explain it, I just feel it." By no means am I saying one cannot be happy, that they shouldn...

The Triumph of Freedom The walls come tumbling down. An instant feel of triumph embodies the people with great courage. Sands flare from the hands of the wind, rain begins to pour with heavy tears. Omitting no attention to the environment, the people raise up roars of freedom, of strength, and unity. The sun glares enviously into the shroud of sand, but it can catch no view of the reckoning. The walls, now debris, sit with no command to force these people to the hands of malevolence. They storm through the openings of the walls, pressing themselves in the fury of sweeping victory. Leaping from the rubble of the wall; the men bellow with command. They charge with furious bravery as they breach the doors of the palace. Not even the diamonds that lay patterned at their feet, distracts them from their mission. The women and children, cheer as they watch from the courtyard of the palace. Seeking shelter from the wild winds and coarse sand. They hold each other closely ...

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...

Our Overthinking Into Fear Where do you go, what do you do, how do you do it? This I cannot tell you, for we are complex in our overthinking. We bring in thoughts that hinder us, thoughts built upon pretenses. On things we have given life to from the curation of others. We build fears from observations or our quickly fading past.  And as we live by these absurd fears, we only bring our demise early. We become a withering flower to the ever falling sun. Only to become a decayed skeletal of wasteful tears.  And those mornings we wake in the arms of melancholy, or the strangling of our throats from the tedious hands of anxiety. We fondle our thoughts, ourselves, to the glutenous mouth of doubt.  We worry for things that have yet to happen, or have already happened. We bring fear through fiction of what horrors we believe shall transpire. Rather than what beauty may result in the attempt to go beyond our fear. And if we are such magnificent creatures,...

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...

Youtube  Our Relevance To Particles No relevance is thee to the particles that float among us to create what we be. Our spirits are far designed to live among this futile air. This breathless nuisance of life, we are no more alive today, than yesterday. For our visitation upon this earth in our physical presence is stemmed the moment we wake. We are but flowers blooming in a long summer. Each our own winter, but forever shall we slumber. But maybe more lies beyond this veil we see. Thus we must be willing to act accordingly, for judgment may lay upon our crowns. None be perfection, but thrusting to the idea, accepting the imperfections is the utmost one can be. Lending hands to teach, to grow, to help, never to hold bitterness longer than the moment. Being no burden to self, though our real wishes this. Being no false prophet, telling only the facts of truth, living only what thee truly believes at the deepest crests of the horizon. Spilling no venom among the breach...

Empathy Is Our Apocalypse  The world is gone, not a single structure stands as it did before. Sands from far away lands, now rest here as if is to be their home. Cultures of others cleansed in the name of these sands. Deserted like the desert, threads of architecture split from the ground like slivers. Ashes cover the skies, the smell of burning flesh and gun powder enthrall the senses in disgust. Food is scarce, the weather, fickle against the black blind of clouds. It is a carnivorous scene, it looks as if the devil had kissed the earth. Screams from the distance echo through empty city streets. Filling the ears of those alone with much doubt, much horror. Feral beasts feast upon the dead with wild insatiable hunger. No communication but that of face to face and hand delivered letters is all that exists. Flames burn constant from the expulsion of oil from the earth. Families fear death as putrid souls gather in haste to take control. Pillaging the weak, murdering th...

We Are Beyond Our Flesh  Its as if I am but an extension to my actions. That what I choose and what I do, are truly not mine. I have felt the darkest dark's, and the brightest brightest. I have wallowed in the silence of the damned and laughed among the angels. And in all these strange wanderings, I have come to see that I am not me. That I am not the skin upon my flesh nor the bones that keep me upright. I am more than the eyes that sit inside my head like beads. I am more than the fingers that plunge into the creation of writing. There is much I cannot explain, nor do I wish to. But I feel as if every moment I am awake. There is a force that wishes to pull me. That wishes to see me design, mend, and be. I have dreamt the most vile visions and dreamt of the most beautiful views. But in these dreams I feel as if they are not truly me. That it is not the nerves that spark the thoughts, the visions. But that they are creation beyond my control, beyond what I see. For too ...

Fallen To Society  It starts out grand, glorious, magical, with a slight hint of reality. All things are new, all things transpire in extraordinary breath. Our eyes gleam with excitement with each passing day. Till we no longer can remain in shuttering struggle to stay awake. Even the stars are miraculous, bleeding with a stupendous view. Leaving not a moment for us to think the world is otherwise.  Our innocents compliments our curiosity, though we may find ourselves behind a pointed finger of anger. Only to end up with a smile so splendid, those that care, but must punish, can no longer remain riddled with temper. We charm our way with pleasant laughter and doughy eyes. We find our hearts to brim with happiness, with most ambitious dreams. And when we learn to speak, though limited it may be. We become an adventure of why. Seeking answers though we may have no sense. Only to antagonize the elders to feel the limits of their patience. And unknowingly, we become m...