For those ambitious few,
the self-obsessed
who feel they are the Sword of Destiny,
the Generals and Kings,
anxious to include their names
in pointless books,
and on the maps of distant lands,
History is the lightning in the clouds,
the cresting waves,
volcanoes changing earth's design.
It is the ship upon the stormy sea,
guided by a firm and arrogant hand
against the wind,
into the darkness of the storm.

For all the rest,
who live their lives for family and friends
and in the wonder of existence,
History is the flood these fools create,
it is the sea beneath the ship,
drowning all it covers.
It is the wave beneath the crest,
shattering all it strikes.
It is the flood
that comes with lightning's rain,
and washes simple lives away,
or hurls them,
molten,
into the sky,
with every war's eruption.