History has its eyes on me

The weight of ages, a ghostly gaze, A thousand stories in a timeless maze, They watch me now, from shadows deep, A silent vigil they forever keep. History's breath, a chilling breeze, Rustling through the ancient trees, Their eyes, a mosaic, sharp and keen, Observing every act, every scene. Not just the heroes, bold and bright, But common souls, within the night, The struggles faced, the hopes they held, Their echoes in my spirit swelled. Kings and queens, their reigns of old, The stories whispered, bravely told, Rebellions fought, for freedom sought, Every victory, every lesson taught. They see my choices, small and grand, The footprints I leave upon the sand, Will they approve, or turn away? Will they see good, or just decay? This weight of knowing, both fright and grace, A responsibility in this time and space, To be aware, to choose with care, For history's eyes are always there. So I will strive to live with might, To make my actions honest, pure, and bright, For though I'm fleeting, like the morning dew, History has its eyes on me, and I on you.