Shelley`s sonnet has outlasted empires: witnessing the deaths of boastful tyrants who follow each one upon the other, their egotistical paranoia cut down like sheaths of corn, and the demise of the British imperialism he so ardently despised. The pursuit of power and dominion over others is a fleeting affair, the span of a man`s days, and nothing more; even the iron of empires which exist by the heart beats of generations of tyrants, will eventually rust and dissolve back to it`s base elements…….To leave nothing but a crumbling statue in an empty desert.
Published by marlovian
Language and good literature are like fine wine upon the lips. I cannot imagine a life without the written word. It`s the music which keeps the orchestra in my head playing on an endless loop of pleasure. Give me a book to read, and I`m as happy as a French man who has invented a pair of self removing trousers.