Is It You…?

is-it-you

Freewriting,
just to follow the flow
Don’t know where this story goes
With a finger and a thumb partially numb
Trying to come up with words not “dumb”
Somehow, my juvenile, young naive mind
Wants to journey through endless space and time
But I know that if I close my eyes
Yours are the ones I see right next to mine
What is it about you that has me mesmerized?
What is it that you’ve chosen in me to confide?
How, behind these walls you’ve melted can I hide,
When all I want is a moment to just…be mine…

Even for a moment, however fleeting
Even if it means dreaming, sleeping
Staying in a place that I can just “chill”
Just disappear with you at will.

Now it deems the question I always raise,
To whom am I writing in this place?
Is it you, my darling, of whom I constantly dream?
Is it you, my dear, as it would seem?
Is it you, my love, across the seas?
Is it you, my lover, across the street?
Is it you, my dearest, inside of me?

Is it you
whom I love,
is it you?

Who am I?

~M.G.~

Have I Told You That I’ve Seen Your Soul?

Have I told you that I’ve seen your soul
That every crack is beautiful?

Buried deep beneath the flesh
The skin, the bones, and all the rest

Have I told you that I’ve felt your soul
That every vibration is beautiful?

Reaching out from within the walls
Protection, not wanting to fall

Have I told you that I’ve touched your soul
That every stroke is beautiful?

Fire and ice, a gentle touch
Passion rages on – a chemical flux

Have I told you that I’ve entered your soul
That every wave is beautiful?

As the ocean sprays against the shore
Pushing its way out for more

Have I told you that I’ve wanted your soul
For every word is beautiful?

A realm we inadvertently create
For we to each other, are the escape.
~M.G.~

They Say…

They say you never understand unless it happens to you.
Then I understood,

because it happened to me.

~M.G~

The Downfall of Democracy

Why are we told that Republican is the opposite of Democrat?
The whole system is democratic!

Why do people who leave their country to become independent people
complain when their country wants to leave and become
Independent People?

Why do we call them Conservative when there’s not much conservation?
Why do we call them Liberal when they are not free to speak their minds?
Why do we call it Labour when taxes favour those who don’t?

Why do they complain about the government instead of themselves,
when democracies are “by the people”?

Why do people fight to change the rules instead of first learning to play
the existing ones?
Why are we taught that rules are made to be broken,
but then are told we can change them?

We do we tax those who work,
but provide to those who don’t?

Why do we restrict those who can work for a lower salary,
then complain that they do not work?

Why do they educate all who enter their doors,
then banish them along with skills bred on their soil?

Why do they complain about their countries falling apart,
when they were the ones who abandoned it in the first place?

Why do democracies still exist if they cater only to the small percentage of elitists?

And why do those elitists,
at some point,
drop out of the game…?

Think about it.

M. Gordan

City Lights

The sun sets,
Slowly dimming the street.
It falls behind the magnificent structure
Of steel, glass and concrete.

The view from this altitude
Is an endless stretch of charm.
With what’s left of the sun’s rays
Reaching from the city to my palm.

As the roads wind and connect
A seemingly complicated system of its own
Extending from where I stand to infinity
Further and deeper, the winding roads flow.

You illuminate this beautiful creation
Each color pasted against the dark
The blackness of the freshly painted evening sky
Anything you connect with lights a spark

Your endless glow revealing the city’s corners
The secrets, illusions, blind to the naked eye
But all is clear: the cars and the trees
The alley ways, the gangs, the random passer-bys

The people, the animals, the steel buildings
The clouds, the moon, the glowing stars
The trucks, the dogs, the plants and pipes
Everything is clear, from here to afar

You see it all yet you say no words
You keep the secrets that all conceal
You are the one who knows everything
You hold the key to any darkness revealed.

For you are the reason that so many souls
Have been brought to life by the flick of a switch
You are the reason that people who search
Can see through the mask to the bottom of the pit.

~Mikaela Gordan, 2008~

Many construct buildings while I construct villages. Villages grow into towns, into cities; a building will always just “be”.

Society

Blank.

I sit and stare at my screen
Trying to find the words to say
But to tell all that I’ve seen
Well… I’ve only got a day

For every finger we point
There are three pointing back
At us for our inadequacies
And corresponding fallacies

They push you to the edge
Only to knock you down
Then blame you for being on the cliff
When they nudge and you crash and burn

Instead of changing minds
My actions are seen as crimes
Being different comes with a price
One I’m paying with my life

No one seems to see
That society creates agony
The amount of negativity
A result of truths unseen

Unseen to the average human
Sheltered in their comfort zones
Safety nets of their construct
Phased by life’s cyclones

All that we perceive
We trust the concrete
All that we can see
Is our defined reality
We fear the unknown and the unseen
For it unravels our insecurities
Everything we think we perceive
The lies we’re taught to believe
The person we’re told to be
Is a manifestation of all that is
A social construct – a mythical bliss
~McGordan~