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Lau-Ren Pandoura

PO# 597438
I'm an overthinker, and my letters are the storage for the finest of my mind rain. They are splatters waiting to be turned into art...
January 12, 2018

If this novel
is going to end in tragedy
if you choose death
as the ultimate strategy
if the doom
is unchangeable
and we are all bound to despair
either at this line or the other-

Let me write
your words
with my own

Let me write
as you say it

Let me write
the grand finale
as shakespear
envisioned it
regarding all that is

Let me write
like I have
a choice
in the matter

Let me write
so those words
become my own,
So I no longer
feel the weight
of human hope.

If your novel is going to end
in pain
let me write it all
in vain

Lau-Ren Pandoura

August 6, 2017

You are a world
one that matters
if you shine upon
all else doest
if you shouldn't
all else matters not

But you are a world
and I am a traveler
you are a law
and I'm a cheater
you drink the rain I fear
and flood away my tears
you overpower mine size
mine worth
mine life

But you are far too solid
bound to your orbital
governed by blood ties
that weep of love
and if't be true I am to run
you cannot follow
not with your eyes
nor with your spite
but I am far allured
by what you have to give
and I wish not to leave

What shalt becometh of me now?

You are too cruel for death
and too merciful for a finale
you are a war
I am a warrior
I exist because of you
and ...

July 19, 2017

If I roam the world
I'll eventually
come back to my room

Everything about these walls
is fabricated
but that is what makes it
so true

I know all 343
floor tiles
and I know whose height
is on the tall door
and I know that spot
where I laid down and grew cold
on the floor

I have fallen so much
in this home of a box
all that is here
seems humid
and scented
by my burning tears

Outside this room
nothing is real
so why would one
choose to leave?

The air here is mine
and so are these words
floating and fluttering
said and heard by me

and silence
like nowhere else,
I would never wish
for such safety
to dissapear.

If I leave this house
I'll eve...

July 16, 2017

Do you believe in ghosts?
You say you do
and think it's ironic
that a ghost
is asking that of you.

I say you have forgotten
that just because
you refuse to see
what I see in you
it does not mean
that I'm see-through.

Just because
I don't shiver
as blue
it does not mean
that I don't
feel the cold too.

There is no one but myself
so you expect me
to talk
to who?
I know that you believe
that I am unable
to see things
like you do.

But you take your stand
"how come you never
show up in the pictures?"
and I frown.
I was the one
whom you asked
to capture it all
from far away...

You don't believe in ghosts
but you wish you do
so that when I look lost
you d...

July 12, 2017

Join our masquerade
where the symphony
does not stop
Where our masks
are always on
Doesn't matter
if those eyes
are real or not

Join our masquerade
at least do so for the charade
we're all actors before the stage
only beneath the glory
one finds solace

Don't look so vain
this is all a part of the play
despite lacking a script
despite lacking a way

You say
"why are all the curtains closed?"
We know not of the time
in which they'll be drawn

never drop your role
Virtue means nothing at all
A blunder
will cost you your soul
For the audience sees
every fault

Join our masquerade
Join our script-less play
before the curtains
are raised.

Lau-Ren Pand...

July 9, 2017

There will come soft rains
and long days
short nights
for those of us
who stay up and wait

There will come soft rains
on stormy eventides
city lights dead in their downpour
and sounds gone in vain

There will come soft rains
marking the end
and the start of a new age
in which we do not exist

There will come soft rains
and soft falls
soft goodbyes
almost like there was none
at all

There will come soft rains
just as they have
a reminiscent months ago

For even the softness of this rain
does not stop
this sinful world
from going on.

Lau-Ren Pandoura.
Inspired by "There Will Come Soft Rains" by Ray Bradbury

July 5, 2017

The heart beats red
yet I remain blue
for the words that were said
were only meant for you
the tears which I shed
remain see-through
Maybe because your heart beats red
and all I ever am is blue.

The flames of the sun
and the resignation of the sky.
At dawn, all becomes one
even you and I.
Red is imprinted unto the eye
while the day fleets
and the mind forgets the blue
once the universe comes
twinkling its streets

You say "remember me"
fully knowing
I don't recall my own soul
nor my own purpose
in the sea of my-selves-
with all the toxins of fabrication-

Your heart beats red
and everything shines or you
except the bodies of the dead
for those beat blue.

July 3, 2017

If I was as quick as you are
would I have caught up
with the speed of this world?

If I was as brave as you are
would I have spoken out
into the opportunities of this world?

If I was as ambitious as you are
would I have climbed
up the mountain of this world?

If I was as graceful as you are
would I have twirled
out of the abyss of this world?

If I was as strong as you are
would I have survived
the black vortex of this world?

If I was you
who you are
with a name like you and a face like you
with a home like you and a fate like you
would I have belonged?

Or would solitude still haunt me
even if I wasn't
me at all?

Lau-Ren Pandoura

October 15, 2016

I am temporary
never permanent
Like a fleeting thought

I am a dandelion
You treasured me until
Breath escaped your lips
In trembling waves
Unto my seeds
Into the wind
And then, I meant nothing
I am still a dandelion

I was a box of chocolates
You loved me until
The last bits melted
Filling your taste with flavor
And then, I meant nothing
I was still a box of chocolates

I walk barefoot
I walk bare of hope
I walk bare of kindness
These are things no one has the capacity to comprehend
I barely do so myself
All that I can fathom
Is that I
Never meant to belong
And never will

I was your friend
Your support
I gave you my sky of trust
And my trees of kindness
My rain of thoughts
Until the storms ...

October 9, 2016

There was always a medicine.

Stay home from school
Rest in bed
Drink soup
Take some pills.

Pills for the headache
the tummy-ache
body ache

Hot soup for the colds
Cold cloth for the hot.

There was always a cure.

My heart hurts.
I took some pills.
They made me sick.

My heart hurts,
I stayed in bed.
I couldn't get up.

My heart really hurts,
I should get it checked.
Nothing is wrong with it.

It hurts,
the pain is spreading,
my head... my lungs.

Maybe I should listen to Vincent
Yellow paint is happy
Yellow paint should bring happiness.


My head hurts
My heart hurts
My lungs hurt
Yellow paint cannot fix all of that.
I want it to stop...

August 20, 2016

If the clouds above
covering the sky
were possibilities...

Why do they cover the sun?
Why do the tragedies come?
And yet I love the shade, the rain, more than hue.

If stars that shimmer
making the night alive
were dreams

Why are they dead and done?
And in the light of the city they're gone.
Yet I wait for the moon to be dark, maybe then I'd see them better...

Maybe then...

I get the feeling just because
everything I touch isn't dark enough.
the darkness likes to be free
without getting out of me
and we sit here
and I say...

May the moon jerk the ocean out
waves touching the sky
making it blue
forcing the day.

May the sun burn the world
set all the fires

August 14, 2016

You are a pilot
Riding a plane
In the sky of life

You think you are alone
but the noises from the back complain they need service
who are you riding with?

You leave the plane on auto-pilot and become the flight attendant
for the sake of serving them
but who are those people?

You know their faces but you don't
more and more of them appear each year
even though you still didn't land the plane once.

You go back to being the pilot
and look through the windows
Ahh, there are other planes too

the radar tells you that each member of your family has a plane
all your friends have their own planes
your enemies
everyone you have ever met
they all have their respective planes...

August 12, 2016

If I was a square
you would be the cube

If I was black, a mixture of colours
you would be white, a mixture of lights

If I was one to talk
you would be one to speak

But we are neither shapes nor people
we're just things breaking free

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