The World Is an Egg

This poem is a traditional poem. It explores the cosmological challenges plaguing our world as a result of our development in science and technology.

Oval in shape,

siting on the nest of Creation,

hatched by the very fingers which moulded it:

the world is an egg.

 

Fragile in form,

comely in content,

made from the vacuity of darkness:

the world is an egg.

 

Formed by the Word,

warmed by the Light,

borne by the pillars of providence:

the world is an egg.

 

Scarce in quantity,

spacious in quality,

a home away from home:

the world is an egg.

 

Its dwellers stole fire,

outside of its hearth,

the harbinger of death and doom:

the world is an egg.

 

Its own fire they abandon,

bringing in some strange fire,

on their altar of passion and pride:

the world is an egg.

 

Its shell their fire has lacerated,

exposing its beauty and bliss,

to the starkness of its outer world:

the world is an egg.

 

Can there be another egg,

siting on the nest of Creation,

hatched by the very fingers of the Creator?

the world is an egg.

Author's Note

What do you think of the poem, generally?