The Egg Poem by RIC BASTASA

the egg
is never a circle
we were made to
believe it
that way
like the way they
twist the shape of
our earth once
the egg at first
was a tear
solidified by
the persistence of time
stretched a bit
it is elongated now shaped
as an oblong
like the truth
stretched to a tip
transparent against the light
fragile
and if not handled with
caution
it breaks and scatters
the yolk yellow as the
moon at night
stares at you
on a wasted
silence.