Before the clay souls of men found shape in the forges of profane ovens under the mountains, or fiery speech breathed into their hearts, always and forever existed the spells declared by gods. Even in times before the Great Libraries of Thoth towered high over the sands of Egypt or in dreams where Hermes once sang the immortal linguistics of stars, as his chants and calls were like empty music in the minds of men, whispers in the night. 

Falling further towards the world, past the snowy wastelands of the north as the All-Father himself pretended, manipulated language of the minds of his warriors, and Nabu’s Babel soon grew into a mass of stone and blood; humanity slowly came to understand himself, his words, and his future while words dangled from their lips. 

Still, these words were like toys for the gods and from the Void, they fell to the earth. Smashing into syntax and structure like some unstoppable force, the reason was all too clear. The primal utterances, meaningless without signifier or sense as the clay souls of men found shape in the forges of profane ovens under the mountains, where fiery speech was breathed into their hearts, always and forever, existed the spells uttered by gods.

[Maxwell I. Gold is a gay and Jewish Rhysling Award-nominated prose poet, focusing on weird fiction. His work has been featured in numerous publications including Spectral Realms, Space and Time Magazine, Weirdbook Magazine, Startling Stories, and others.]