History is us all.
Sometimes she is quiet, other times very vocal.
She is passed down from generations, embedded in flesh, stone and metal.
She retains the ideas and dreams, while telling stories of a time we only can imagine.
She is truth, she is lies, she is vengeance, she is forgiveness.
Above all she tends to be nostalgic.
The blueprint of the past she casts on minds, stones and books.
A bloodline forgotten she leaves trails to be gotten.
An age lost, she always leaves remains of their rust.
She is ever watchful and nothing escapes her memory.
With her nothing is never really forgotten.
It might be unspoken, but never really forgotten.