With apologies to Percy Blythe Shelley... This was inspired by Valtin's post yesterday,
President Ozymandias yesterday:
I met a refugee from Louisianne
Who said: A rusty bike all broken down
Lies in the parish. Nearby, upon a bag of sand,
Half sunk in filthy water sprawls a clown,
Whose lying lips will never smirk again.
Once terror ruled, a fearful passion, hatred
For survivors stamped with darker skin
A land that mocked them as they went unfed
And on the bicycle, these words appear:
"My name is Dubya, King of Spin:
But work is too hard, and why should I care?"
Nothing else remains. Only the decay
Of a proud nation, boundless and brave
And blood stains the oil sands so far away.
If you enjoyed this, read the original version after the break, or at the link above:
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
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:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
-Percy Bysshe Shelley
1792-1822