by MW Cook

An expression of an idea.
Thoughts dwell in abstract – barely real in their ethereal domain.
They are conceptions, pregnant with power.
They take form through movements in the invisible, yet tangible, air.
Those who have ears and minds can grasp and be grasped.
Here they are impregnated.
Here the thought – the conception – is aborted or allowed to come to term.
And it is reborn and reborn a million times with a million mutations.
And here is power.
A word.
A Word.
But a word from the Transcendent cannot exist as subtle movements through air. Air cannot sustain the expressions of the Airmaker.
So the Word was made flesh.
The Word screamed in birth and death.
Have you heard it?
Did it impregnate?
Will you abort? Or will you give birth?