The things we hold so dear,

Trick ourselves till they're unclear.

 

The permanent, indelible. 

Suddenly tangible, credible.

 

The truths we learn and love,

Twist and turn; into a white dove.

 

They spread their wings,

and take to the air.

And then we realize ,

that the dove was never there.

 

Yet there is something so beautiful,

This ever changing transpiration.

That holds us to believe,

in this fixation.

 

The dove vanished.

Nothing more.

Is replaced by something,

at its very core.

 

And while it is never the same,

It holds true,

That's all we need,

To make due.