WE ARE THE HISTORY

A million scribes and a thousand million
Pen furiously both day and night
Recording each a separate chapter
Upon the parchment we call life

No day goes unrecorded
Each page forever writ
Chiseled in the universe
A force that never quits

Our thoughts are cosmic ink
Our words a mighty quill
The pages are our daily lives
And the author is our will

Each soul a scarlet thread
Wove by God's own hand
Put them all together
Tis the history of man

Each act a flash of living plasma
It etches out of time
A portrait of its author
By edict that's divine 

We cannot hide from history 
Each man disposed to try
No mind is ever idle 
No spoken word can die

History is not something 
That only others prove
It is a vast composite 
Of everything we do

Could we see the end result
Of everything we do
How different would be history
For history - that's me - that's you

William Everyman  1988

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