A circle holds the world together
not in silence, but in rhythm.
At its core, a quiet star breathes,
steady as a heartbeat,
while around it, stories revolve
sharp, soft, repeating, resisting.
Lines arc like journeys half-remembered,
motifs rise like voices in chorus,
each fragment claiming space,
yet bound by an unseen harmony.
There is symmetry
but it is not stillness.
It moves, it hums, it gathers
a compass of culture and craft,
turning endlessly between past and present.
Here, within the circle,
nothing stands alone
everything returns,
everything belongs.
