The Fall of Ozymandias

The Ruins of Ozymandias


Upon the sand, where winds once roared,
There stood a king, a mighty lord.
His empire vast, his name a cry,
A ruler who would never die.


Ozymandias, they called his name,
The king whose vision knew no shame.
He built his throne with strength and pride,
And gazed upon the world, wide-eyed.


His statues rose, their faces grand,
Carved from stone with a steady hand.
The works of art, the walls so high,
A kingdom reaching to the sky.


"I am the king, the one supreme,
The conqueror of every dream,"
He said, his voice a thundered call,
As kings before him would fall.


He ruled with iron, fierce and bold,
A hand that never would grow cold.
The world beneath his feet did kneel,
For none could break his mighty seal.


The people cheered, the cities thrived,
As Ozymandias had strived.
His name was writ in gold and stone,
A ruler who stood all alone.


But now, a desert’s endless stretch,
A barren land, no eyes to fetch,
Where once stood glory, now only dust,
The ruins of a broken trust.


The sand, it whispers tales untold,
Of wealth and power, bought and sold.
Of lands that bloomed with every flower,
Now lost to time, lost to power.


The statues stand, but cracked and worn,
Their faces twisted, hearts forlorn.
The king, once proud, now fades away,
A shadow in the light of day.


No armies march, no banners wave,
No kingdom stretches to the grave.
The empire crumbled, brick by brick,
While time, relentless, took its pick.


Ozymandias, where are you now?
Your crown of gold, your sacred vow?
The winds have swept your name away,
And left no trace for those who stay.


The sands of time, they never cease,
They swallow kingdoms, bring release.
For all that rises must decline,
And in the end, no throne will shine.


Beneath the sun, the ruins stand,
A testament to power's hand.
Once mighty, now a crumbling dream,
The king, the throne, the endless gleam.


Yet in the dust, a truth remains,
That power fades, and pride wanes.
For all the wealth, for all the might,
It cannot hold the hands of night.


The desert winds, they tell the tale,
Of kings who rose, and kings who failed.
Of Ozymandias, who once believed,
That his great empire would not leave.


But now his name is but a ghost,
A whisper on the wind, a boast.
For time, it takes, and time, it gives,
And all that’s left is how we live.


The glory fades, the empire dies,
And still the winds beneath the skies,
They whisper softly, “All must fall,
For none are greater, none at all.”


So let us learn from Ozymandias’ fate,
That power’s grasp is fragile, late.
For though we build, and though we strive,
It’s time that keeps the dream alive.



This poem, inspired by the themes in Ozymandias, reflects on the fleeting nature of power and the inevitability of time’s erosion. Ozymandias’ once-great empire crumbles into dust, serving as a reminder of the transience of human achievement.


Ozymandias, power, fall, empire, time, transience, legacy, rise and fall, ruins, history, impermanence, pride, decay, legacy.

Location: United States

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