Ozymandias by Percy Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. 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 on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
— Percy Shelley, "Ozymandias", 1819 edition
This poem has served as a reality check for me over the years. In Shelley's poem we encounter a shattered statue in the desert. There was a once-mighty king whose boasts of grandeur have crumbled into ruin. This image of a colossal, decayed monument with the inscription, "Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!" is a haunting reminder of the impermanence of power. It captures the inevitable collapse of human hubris, no matter how formidable it may seem in the moment.
Donald Trump's persona embodies a modern Ozymandias—a man consumed by his own myth, his name emblazoned across towers and golf courses as if they were monuments to his immortality. His presidency, like the statue of Ozymandias, was an exercise in self-aggrandizement. The gold-plated excess, the relentless declarations of "greatness," and the constant pursuit of loyalty above all else were meant to cement his place in history as an indomitable force. Beneath all that bluster, though, Trump's empire is already showing signs of erosion, much like the ruins Shelley's traveler describes.
The recent political and legal troubles facing Trump reveal the fragility of his constructed image. Every indictment, every lost courtroom battle, and every abandoned ally show the pillars of his once-mighty influence have started to buckle. The narcissistic collapse of Donald Trump is not just a personal unraveling but a reflection of the much larger truth that power built on ego and intimidation is destined to fall. The more desperately it seeks permanence, the more quickly it is undone by the passage of time.
Trump's relentless need for validation, whether through rallies, social media, or public feud is like Ozymandias demanding the desert recognize his power. He craves a legacy of unwavering admiration but only is surrounded by sand. The monuments crumble, the headlines fade, and in the end history will only remember the ruin he left behind. Power is fleeting when wielded without empathy or foresight and becomes a cautionary tale for anyone who seeks greatness for greatness's sake.
And that’s where the danger lies, especially now as we face another presidential election. This isn’t just an abstract comparison of poetry and politics. It’s an urgent warning. We’re at a critical moment in our history where we must learn from the mistakes of the past or risk repeating them. Trump’s rise to power was built on a foundation of bluster, branding, and bravado. That strategy that got him far with many voters but ultimately served only himself. We must recognize the pattern and never repeat it.
We’ve already seen how dangerous his leadership can be. He promised a return to greatness yet he scapegoated others and glorified strength over understanding. These are the markers of a leader whose goal is not to serve but to dominate. And like Ozymandias, the consequences of that kind of leadership are bound to leave nothing but ruins. If Trump is allowed near the presidency again, it won't be just another chapter in his saga. It could mark another chapter in the decline of our nation. And that nation deserves far better than to be dragged down by one man's quest for power.
Some of you might say that comparing Trump to Ozymandias is merely poetic overreach. But consider that Trump’s face was once everywhere, his name synonymous with power and wealth. But with each legal setback, each revealed scandal, each fraying of his influence, we see the metaphor come to life—the cracks beginning to show in the facade. He insists on his greatness, but the reality tells a different story. The louder the boasts, the more obvious the emptiness behind them.
Folks that used to support Trump because they believed he was different, that he’d shake things up, drain the swamp, have started speaking out. He certainly shook things up. But not in the way many hoped. Instead of lifting people up, he seemed more intent on tearing down anyone who didn’t bow to him. Instead of draining the swamp, he waded in and made it murkier. His so-called loyalty was transactional, his idea of greatness built on shifting sands. And we’re still dealing with the fallout of his time in office, including the division, the distrust, the erosion of the very institutions that should make us proud to be Americans.
The promise of simple solutions to complex problems is seductive. Trump knows how to put on a show. For a while he seemed to answer to all his supporters problems. But the truth, as Shelley's poem reminds us, is that real power that endures isn’t about the show. It’s not about the statues or the branding. It’s about the substance and about what’s left when the cameras are off and the crowds go home.
We have a stark choice coming up in this election. We can choose a future where leadership is about building and uniting as the Harris campaign promotes. Or we can fall back into the past where power was nothing more than an illusion, a facade hiding a hollow center. Trump wants us to believe he’s indispensable, that without him, we’re lost. But that’s just another boast etched in sand. We’ve seen what happens to those who try to make themselves larger than life at the expense of others. Like Ozymandias they become the broken statues of history, relics of a time when ego reigned, and empathy took a backseat.
I’m often accused while talking about Donald Trump of being partisan, which seems to me a strange accusation. My disclaimer points out that I’m politically Left Libertarian. I agree with Harris’ optimistic goals for the future, but she remains a corporatist, beholden to the corporations that the Supreme Court has turned into people with unlimited political power. She would not be my first choice for President. But she doesn’t appear to want to end democracy as Trump’s often repeated mantra seems to. Maybe it’s a character flaw, but I’m always going to favor democracy over fascism. A lot of Americans have died defending that position. What Trump offers is fascism.
We stand at a critical juncture in history. The survival of democracy is at stake. When you vote, don’t forget the lesson of Ozymandias. True greatness doesn’t need to shout, doesn’t need monuments or gold-plated towers. Real greatness is about service, about humility, and about leaving behind something better for those who come after. Trump had his chance, and what he left was division and decay. We can’t afford to go back. We need to move forward toward a future built on solid ground, not the shifting sands of one man's vanity.
Trump is an old man, as I am. Neither of us have a long-term prognosis for survival. Don’t let his legacy be that as his last act he ended democracy.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this editorial are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Polk County Publishing or its affiliates. In the interest of transparency, I am politically Left Libertarian.
