somebody, no expert
said that in the eastern desert
that theres two legs beside an old barrow
visage lying in the sand
with a sneer of cold command
commissioned by some hubristic pharaoh
well the years start coming and they don't stop coming
emperors die and forget whats forthcoming
didn't imagine we'd forget whats dead
for his arrogance belied a heart that fed
passions well-read
lifeless and dead
look at what was stamped on the stone there
the flattering sculptor's words
the circling carrion birds
my name's
ozymandias
these are my works
despair
all ye
who are mighty
see yours vanish
like air
yet nothing but this remains
endless desolation, his domain
It is good to now know, no matter how hard I try, I cannot achieve perfection. It's liberating to see the peaks of the mountains and know that it is beyond my reach, that the best exemplar of my labor has been embodied by another, and all my efforts will pale in comparison - there is a freedom in knowing you will never be the best, and therefore must only focus on besting the version of you who arrogantly sought those heights.
