Pandera Poetry

hey:^) this is me and all the words I decided to write down instead of saying...

[p4nd3r4]

Little Life

That’s how strange life is.

It begins from nothing, out of love—

from something we can’t see or touch,

yet somehow we feel it.

We feel what it is to be alive,

what it means to be human.

We breathe, we walk, we act.

And then, all at once, it can be over.

Isn’t that strange? Isn’t it strange—

to end on an ordinary day,

with so much still left undone?

So until then, don’t worry.

Just live a little.

[p4nd3r4]

Always

There are souls who will always

leave a piece of themselves within me.

For that, I am grateful—

knowing that even when my voice is distant,

or my presence unseen,

they will still feel my heart.

To them, I whisper softly:

you are my friends,

now and always,

until the very end.

[p4nd3r4]

You’re what it would sound like if my favorite songs became human.

[p4nd3r4]

to the stars

ad astra no matter what— just the two of us

as astra not only at night but in those moments your eyes begin to glow

ad astra because up there we are infinite ethernal between stars

ad astra no matter what— ¬per aspera ad astra now and forever

to the stars

[p4nd3r4]

The Sound of Rain

Little drops, falling from the clouds, drifting down from the sky.

Little drops, traveling together, bound by silence as they fall, leaving home behind.

Little drops, gathering, growing, crackling softly against the rooftops.

And we sit here, wrapped in the warmth of home, listening to raindrops falling, like music from the sky.

While those little drops settle into puddles, sharing whispers of their journey. And all we can hear is the sound of rain.

[p4nd3r4]

It's Life

In life, there are many things

we wish could be poetic.

We long to feel the philosophy,

to make them more than they are.

Life itself is not poetry—

it is the way we live,

the way we give meaning,

that makes living a poem.

[p4nd3r4]

SHE

She's that bonus french fry at the bottom of the bag. The quote in your favorite book you can't stop turning over in your mind. She's the triple-texting, good news-sharing kind of girl who makes not just your lips smile, but your whole soul light up when her name flashes on your screen. She's the poem that lingers, the flowers you stop to admire, the last sip of espresso that jolts you awake. She sounds like pure sunshine, a source of endless happiness and warmth. She’s the sprinkles on top, the confetti in the air, the fireworks of serotonin you never saw coming. She’s that little extra—never too much, never not enough. She’s everything. And how lucky am I to call her mine?

[p4nd3r4]

Heartbeat

Whenever I’m near you,

I can hear my heartbeat pounding louder,

feel my soul straining against the confines of my ribs,

yearning to escape—

just to behold you with its own eyes.

[p4nd3r4]

Sparkle & Rays

It's in those nights when you look at me, and the sparkle in your eyes matches the million stars in the sky.

It's in those days when the rays of sunshine warm the earth, and your voice does the same to my soul, eternally.

It's in everything in between, and even when we can't see it. It is there with us, and it will always be right here.

[p4nd3r4]

Just for One Day

We could be heroes, just for one day,

Rise through the storm, keep fear at bay.

No crowns, no glory, just hearts that fight,

A fleeting flame in endless night.

If walls should fall and stars betray,

We’d still stand tall, just for one day.

[p4nd3r4]

Suddenly, she became the very drug I longed to crave.

[p4nd3r4]

"Life offers up these moments of joy despite everything"

~ Sally Rooney, "Normal People"

[p4nd3r4]

Maybe Forever

Maybe "forever"— Even though I don’t yet know its shape, I sit here, letting it linger, wondering if one day it will feel right.

"Maybe" forever— A word I can promise you, when time draws it into focus and the waiting fades away.

And maybe then, “maybe” will slip away, leaving us with just one word: Forever.

[p4nd3r4]

In the abyss of shadows,

love´s cruel sting,

a tortured soul,

a broken wing,

Abandoned in despair´s embrace

lost in a void,

a loveless place.

[poetryforall]

[p4nd3r4]

"We accept the love we think we deserve"

~ Stephen Chbosky, "The Perks of Being a Wallflower"

[p4nd3r4]

It is December.

December has arrived, and the days grow colder, the nights stretch darker-- whispering of finality.

In this moment, the lonely souls stir: The poets, aching to be the poem, just once. The artists, chasing the sunrise, to spill it across their canvas. The wanderers, searching for light, to guide home. The seekers, searching for answers in shadows and fallen leaves.

Yes, it is December, a month of lovers, for dreamers, for poets- those who see beauty in others, but worship from afar, those who have chosen their path and embraced its solitude.

For them, for all of us, it is finally December.