Egg
Not speckled, not brown,
but white, pure white,
and still, so still –
pregnant with potential,
an ellipse of bright,
its light is white, so white,
so blinding. I cannot
remove my eyes from
its perfect form. It binds
me to its presence, sitting
as it does, in isolation,
where I have placed it
so that it may share
its splendour with no one
but itself. So pure
in its simplicity
and its truth,
for it says nothing
and is before,
before creation,
before the opening
of the god's eye
that made the flowing-forth,
the emanation
that is all that is.
Copyright © Andrew John | Year Posted 2017
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