Thursday, August 28, 2025

Point Nemo

 But first loves
Belong to the past. 
When fairy tales
Wrapped around the innocence 
Of forever ever after.
Kindled by sparks,
Blown by the Winds.
And when life happens,
All that is left 
Is the embers...
Ashes...
Cold blackened charcoals.

And yet here we are
Still believing 
In Phoenix.
That from ashes
They will return,
Burning...
Scourging...
Rekindling what's left.

But first loves 
Belong to the past.
They remain in the clocks 
Of forever not in present.
They flicker in a glimpse 
In the chasms of our lives.
But they will always be
Closer to space than land.
A Point Nemo
In a vast of mosaic emotions.
A hiraeth...
A nostalgia.