That myth is more potent than history.

That myth is more potent than history.

In ancient realms of mystic lore,
Where shadows whispered secrets more,
There nestled in the hearts of old,
The fables we delight to hold.

For in the land where myth takes flight,
A power stirs beneath moon's light,
A spark of truth that lingers strong,
Unshackled by the hands of wrong.

While history's grasp may fade and wane,
The legends sung refrain remains,
For tales spun from the human mind,
Leave echoes deeper, intertwined.

In realms where gods and goddesses roam,
Their stories carved in stone, in tome,
Their fiery feats and tragic plight,
Ignite the embers of our spite.

When Hercules, with mighty force,
Slew monsters fierce without remorse,
In each retelling, brave and grand,
His spirit roams this timeless land.

And when fair Helen's face did spark,
The Trojan War, blood dim and dark,
In whispered corridors of time,
Her beauty still maintains its prime.

Though history's tales were penned in ink,
With dates and facts that make us think,
It's myth that binds us, heart and soul,
Like treasures hidden in a goal.

For myth, my friends, is far more grand,
It molds the world with fable's hand,
Through vivid whispers in our ears,
A soundtrack for our deepest fears

It charts the path of heroes bold,
With stories ancient, now retold,
A tapestry of woven lore,
That myth has spun forevermore.

So let us not forget the sway,
Of legends passed from day to day,
For in the web of human thought,
Myth's potent power will not be sought.