In neural sparks and ancient bone,
Love and hope were carved, not grown.
Evolution shaped their guise,
A social need, a brain’s disguise.

Yet in their fire, we find our creed,
A shared delusion we still feed.
Though chemistry explains the flame,
Its warmth transcends the fleeting name.

For truth resides not just in fact,
But in the ways our hearts react.
If love's a lie, it still feels real,
And hope compels the will to heal.

In subject’s gaze, the universal’s clear,
A fragile truth, yet no less dear.