Fighting for the pen to write their story,
For we are told the story of the victor
The enemy is always the villain;
The morally wrong; whom we despise.
Portraits of gods and goddess’
The truth hidden with each stroke.
Hairs of a brush mask any imperfections
Yet knives etch other’s evil side.
As we march for truth, blindly accepting
Tales of old: it is written so it is so,
Yet today we distrust all but our eyes
And authors of history are anonymous.
Stories told by men absent from events
Fuel billions; and utmost faith. A profit
Or prophet: only question if written
From the other side; in Hades’ guise.
Crimson tainted ink stains virgin pages
Steady hands hold quills; washed clean,
Telling the history we accept as truth
And the others’ stories hunger for their time.