~The Poet’s Poet~
During my many travels.
I met a man from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert.
Most observant of him I thought, it had been a rough night.
Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies,
Good she was out of ear shot
Whose frown, and wrinkled lip,
And sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
(He did recognise my attention to detail)?
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Pleased to meet you I spoke, in a most quite voice
You may not have heard of me I’m ~The Poet’s Poet~
Look at my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
That was me now – totally exposed.
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
His masterpiece in Italics.
© Chris Black. February 2019.
#Poetry #amwriting #iknowwhatyouarethinking