>But the war is far from over. I want them to sleep the sleep that only
>Carthage knows. I want to look upon the rubble and fallen walls at
>twilight and savor the long mysterous shadows as they cut across the
old
>stone fluttings and run my fingers over their weather beaten
>surface--stone that has lain exposed for a millienia or more. I want a
>sleep for them that evokes awe and astonishment at the depth of its
>retribution. I want the well of language itself to shallow them until
>even their markings on the broken facades and empty portals have no
>meaning.
>
I met a traveller 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 on 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.'
Jim Baird, over limit and unrepentent
______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com