THE WORD — Hive

The Word knew power once: it was extracted out of the very soil of the Earth, coveted as a treasure from the holiest of ground,
smelted and shaped by the cheeks and jowls of artisans and craftsmen who gained renown,
as transformers of the mundane into the sublime.

It was recognized as the gift of life compressed, the breath made blessed, the numinous in flesh;
and could compel the very rocks and stones to rise, and be directed to their place;
the very bones of men to resonate, and motion with added grace.

And then the Word gained currency, and as demand grew, the precious metal on which it was based, was replaced.

And lesser men now traded the Word;

And what was once regarded as priceless became foul, and the ability to recognize
what was archetype and what was fools-gold was lost; and today,
awash with dross, we pay the price...and count the cost.

But there are those who have retained the secrets of
ancient times, and throughout countless generations guarded their tongues,
and thus guarded their reserves.
And to them belongs the Word...as Word.

To such a being each thought rendered manifest, each enunciation
causes shift in psychic tectonic-plate,
unlocks doors to mysteries hidden and opens gates;

and wreaks destruction furious in scourge.
Bringing about cataclysm heretofo unknown,
signaling the death of the herd;

so that once again, it shall be spoken as it was, once again...

In the beginning, was the word