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