In a temple aeons old

Hidden in an ancient wold

Stands a statue tall and gold

Of a being long foretold.

On a throne alabaster

Before which none can muster

Courage, even lackluster,

Sat, of all men, the master.

A king with a heart acold,

Whose story time shall withhold.

As the sights slowly unfold

Before the eyes of the bold,

In this great hall no whisper.

By his side a giant spear,

At his feet: diamond river,

His face a mask of silver.


Ozymandias was his name,

From the stars they say he came.

As grand and proud was his frame,

Dark and bloody was his fame.

Many years lasted his reign

In conflict, bloodshed and pain.

For the reason he became

King was his thirst just to tame.

None before could ever claim,

Nor after, to be the same;

‘Tis said he, without refrain,

What desire he would deign

Look upon, pursue and gain,

‘Til his eyes on it were lain.

‘Tis said he would never tire.

And too he built a tower

From earth and wind and fire

So high all things were lower,

That he wielded such power

Even the gods would cower.

An hommage (which I hope worthy) to the poem of the same name by Shelley.

I don’t know why but that name, Ozymandias, echoes in my mind and inspires me in ways I can’t really explain. It’s just so mysterious and unique…

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