In shadows dim and history's grasp,
People make assumptions of the past.
Beliefs, like tangled vines, entwine,
Shaping narratives, firm and fast.

In dusty tomes and whispered lore,
The truth obscured, forever more.
From seeds of doubt, a tree will grow,
Branches heavy with lies to show.

The weight of history bears down,
As futures bend with silent frown.
The present, like a fragile thread,
Is woven with the words unsaid.

And in this dance of whispered tales,
A person's essence slowly pales.
For falsehoods wield a deadly sword,
And truth is crushed beneath its hoard.

© Mr JASPER