Micah Park Biffle

Are we  of God and Devil?  What if, we are but pieces of god? Our soul be of the heavens and our flesh be of hell. What if we are but pawns of opposition to each side? In constant struggle to appease them. Each wanting us, all of us.  The heavens cheering for our soul and hell cheering for our flesh. Hell, waiting with mouths wide with teeth sharpened and coals burning. Waiting to make us an army of its devout creatures of temptation, greed, jealousy and hate.  As heaven weeps for us in our faults and prays we lead with our soul. Waiting for us to consume the waters of our heart. Hoping we choose wings over the walking of our feet.  What if, in our death, whichever side we acted more generously upon, we are given to that which we devoured more? What if, in death our souls can rise to heaven or become tied to our flesh forever? Forever chained to the misery of agony of pain as we are stretched from limb to limb in the pleasures of the devil.  W...

The Shadows We Breed  My skin crawls, shriveling toward my anxious thoughts. My eyes oscillate in attempt to scour the darkness for hope. But there is no light, only the black breath of my falling thoughts. A cloud emerges from the tail of my tongue. I can hear the scurrying of rats in the pitch of darkness as I begin to cower to the corner. Hungry are they, and I a meal for the ages. I curl up in the fetal, shivering like a lonesome child. Afraid, abandoned by the warmth of love. Everything is desecrated, what is left, but to allow devastation and I to be consumed by that which lurks in this unholy of rooms? This dark cloud swarms my throat and I feel nothing but the bitter cold, like the first kiss of winter, after it has conquered the last field of crops; and I, that field. As I quiver in this empty room, I cannot see the shadows that form from my breath. But I can hear them as if they are my own voice, vivid are they. They speak with malice, trickling with lips of l...

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...