This world and this place is not a story
It is not a debate about proper theology
No it is something more and I can't seem to describe it
Because when I label something it seems to deny it
This is true or that is false
But it seems to be what is
When I ignore it's faults
I can conjecture and blame but all these notions are my own
It is only when I accept it as it is
That I can call it my own
Yet I do not own because I cannot destroy
To take something as value to only myself
Would invoke the deepest wrath a nature such as this could employ
No I will leave the flower as it is
An anomaly in the grass
Something to be gazed and marveled upon
Not something to grasp
What a world
What a being
What a happening
A now
This is what is
And I think I'm beginning to understand now