Ontological

I may think of anything,
Any twisted froth brewed
From my small, finite mind,
And all they ever will be
Are reflections of reality.

See that pink, proud, flying elephant
With the polka dotted hide
And white fluffy feathers,
See him soar weightless.

You scoff and call him fantasy
And right you are,
Yet my elephant could not have been
Without birds, pride, color
And the dotted pattern.

You think of God
Because He is there.