She wrote the book

and she bequeath
this tribe and all its lands are sacred
and wrote her page of the ancient book
she stood on the shoulders of a thousand ancestors
each one refining the art of spear throwing for the first nine hundred
and then something changed
something rearranged the very atoms of progress
the last hundred pages we call civilisatiion
the putting of the steam engine and the brass chorus of throbbing pinions
an army gathered and stretched kelp over their shields and we strike them in unison
hot metal and tail fins became electronic knowledge and encrypted aggression
the actor convinced the audience he was dead before they paid attention
these things we learned as we structured the world fashioned of our stories
and she wrote of her crimes against the state
her personal anarchy wreaked havoc with history
the rituals of a renaissance replaced the slow repetitive weapon mastery