On Eggs

Another short (this one a poem) from the late Laston Kirkland, edited and published by his widow, Jennifer Kirkland. Due to its status as a poem, I have left spelling/punctuation/grammar intact as the author wrote it; I don't know what (if anything) was deliberate on his part.

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"Be like the egg," the prophet said

"The egg shall show you the way.

I've taught you everything I know.

I’ve said the things I need to say."

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"But what's to learn about an egg?"

the people ranted, screamed and pleaded,

But the prophet had already left,

their questions left unheeded.

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So the people scattered far and wide

they searched all eggs for hints and clues

Some chose to meditate, and pray

and some old scrolls perused.

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The people of the eastern lands

were first to see the light.

"Aha! The prophet must have meant

that eggs are always white!"

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So the people of the eastern lands

dressed in clothing white as snow.

their homes white washed, their hair was bleached

No pigment was allowed to show.

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"Not so!" the western people cried.

convictions solid, no doubt at all,

"Not white, as claim those heretics,

but eggs are rounded like a ball"

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The western people did their best

to be as round as they could be.

They ate as much as they could eat

they glorified obesity.

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"Not white! Not round!"

The northern lands in rapture cried.

"soft and gooey inside, true,

but eggs are hard outside!"

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So everything was armored up,

to take a blow without a dent.

it made it hard to move and touch,

but the prophet's words were heaven sent.

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"Not hard! Not round! not White!"

The southern lands in chorus shout

"when hatched they chirp and fly about.

Eggs are birds without a doubt!"

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The southern lands did imitate

in all ways the baby birds.

They flapped their arms, ate worms and bugs

and tweeted all their words.

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As years went by the borders grew.

When east met west, and south saw north,

the cultures clashed like fighting cats

to defend their eggliastic worth.

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The bombs of bleach from eastern lands

de-pigmented the squawking south.

The rounded forms of the western people

sat and squashed the armored north.

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And then from whence it was he went,

the prophet did return.

He stood in horror and looked about

his eyes began to spark and burn.

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"People! all of you are right! And wrong!

Eggs are hard outside but softer in,

and baby birds indeed. They are round and white

and all of that.

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But I meant that eggs are self contained,

the seeds of life within."

Be like the egg, expand and grow,

and break the shell and see the sky!

become more than what you started as,

That also, is an egg, I cry!"

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"What do YOU know!" the people cried!

"You aren't round, or white, or hard

The prophet would never say these things!

You can't be him, blowhard!"

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They set upon the prophet then

They squashed him flat and bleached him white

And squawking men pecked at his back

They sent him running through the night.

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So to this day, some people chirp

some grow fat or dress in white

many wear their armored shells

and all believe that they are right

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The prophet lies there in the dirt

bruised and bleeding and bleached

he weeps for those who followed him

and now will never be reached.