In the land where whispers become echoes,
and echoes become memories,
circles form the map of unseen paths.
A circle within neverland,
soft edges, silent boundaries.
What dreams lie encircled within,
in this land untouched by time?
Paths to follow,
or to forsake.
Listen, listen closely,
for the void speaks in circles.
Each rotation a whisper,
a secret kept unbroken.
Whispers forgotten,
or remembered too well.
Reflective pools, perfectly round,
mirror not just faces but souls.
And in the reflection, do we see
ourselves, or something else entirely?
Reflections of neverland,
circles that never end.