There were no written words,
to fully describe the event.
Just the stories of the observers,
describing just how it went.

Huddled around campires warm,
elders told youth tales of yon,
stories of miracles and monsters,
through generations passed on.

It was a terrible time of turmoil,
with tribal territory often fought.
Rulers rose from bloody fight,
boasting what their power bought.

Knowing the power of written word,
rulers sought out scribes to witness,
both every word and deed,
their ill-gotten greatness, greed.

From natural events unknown,
people needed a reason why,
made up gods for everything,
good and bad fortune's ploy.

Good gods were butterflies,
bad gods snakes and spiders,
stories to control the youth,
curbing innocence, reminders.

Elder to shaman to priest,
taught the word of the beast,
drive innocence from the child,
mold it into what beguiled.

Rulers found many gods obscene,
sought only one god for their regime.
Forcing their scribes to write the stories,
how they fought for their god's glories.

Stories were written and revised,
each new ruler, previous, despised.
Wanted his own story exceed the rest,
have his story better, the best.

History arose from rulers' quest.
common peoples' stories much less.
Priests refined stories into legend,
unread and unwashed simply blessed.

Modern science seeks legend source,
often to find out its humble beginning,
not what the people thought all along,
but greatly changed, powerfully wrong.