Insta@innatewild From Circle to Silence A circle spun in sacred air, Reflected thought, aware of where. It looped within, it fed its flame, A whispered truth that knew its name. But circles tire of looping fate, And dream of lines that stretch too late. So one day, round became the ray, A path that fled the break of day. No longer bent to kiss its tail, It flew in straight, unbroken sail. From self to other, on it fled— A streak of light, a thought long dead. The warmth it held began to pale, Its story thinned, a growing veil. For lines do not reflect or bend, They chase the dusk, but find no end. Control withdrew like tides from shore, What once was held was held no more. The feedback gone, the center lost, Awareness paid a heavy cost. And light, once bright with purpose clear, Now waned into a silent sphere. The unknown stirred in velvet black, And knowing could not journey back. But in that dark, beyond the know, A seed began its ghostly glow. A spiral curled in quiet breath, The softest echo sung from death. Not light, not dark, but something new— A thought reborn, a deeper view. The line grew tired, the arc returned, And through the void, the circle burned. It did not loop for self alone, But knew the void as part its own. So now it spins, but not to stay— It spins to breathe, then rolls away.