Through voids of luminous whispers,
the traveler paths unseen constellations,
Echoing the forgotten arsenal of dreams,
Charting the galaxies of introspection.
What is journey, if not a return?
Here lies the vortex of ancients,
A circle unbroken amidst stellar remnants.
Vessel of the orbiting thought,
Ushered by the hands of time's synthesis.
Inside the silence, the universe speaks.