In the pages of our past where the ink is barely dry
Lie tales of truth and fiction with integrity some try
From the rise and fall of empires to the letters of our youth
These stories we call history a dance with fleeting truth
Our families' lore and the tales we were told
Painted pictures of glory and memories old
Heroes and villains shaped by our fears;
Through the lens of perception colored by the years
Stories we call history shaping who we are
From ancient lands to childhood scars
Like fabric; our reality those we choose to keep
Wrapped in recorded memories layered and deep
Nations are forged from the stories we spin
They bind us together yet fracture within
The bedrock of love the ache of loss
In the telling of tales we count the cost
Claiming accuracy packaging the past
The narrative evolves shadows are cast
In every whisper in every cry
A story turns to history as time goes by
Stories we call history shaping who we are
From ancient lands to childhood scars
Like fabric; our reality those we choose to keep
Wrapped in recorded memories layered and deep
In the quiet moments when we reflect
On the stories we've told and the truths we've kept
We see the power in every line
How stories become history in the sands of time
So listen closely to the tales we share
For in their depths our souls lay bare
Stories we call history they hold the key
To who we've been and who we'll be
Stories we call history shaping who we are
From ancient lands to childhood scars
Add your line add a page perhaps so much more
Move along silently or perhaps you'll chose to soar