"Ozymandias," by Percy Bysshe Shelley, is a poem about the "colossal wreck" remaining over from what used to be an awesome kingdom. In the center of a desert - we are chatting sand, sun, then a bit more sand - would be the shattered stone legs as well as head of what possibly used to be a pretty remarkable statue of Rameses II (or "Ozymandias" in Greek, which simply seems way cooler). The inscription in the base reads, "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: / Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Which makes us giggle, since everything around the sculpture is totally empty for what looks like a 50-mile radius. (SOME - one - LOST - his - EMMMM - PIRE!!!)
Contributing to the general sensation of solitude is the point that the poem is told in the past tense (which adds chronological distance) by an unnamed stranger (which contributes narrative distance) in terms of a faraway location (which adds good ol' fashioned typical distance). Could you hear the echo? Although we're enticed to scoff at Ozy and the delusions of his of grandeur, what we humblingly realize as we sit in our pajamas feeding on generic-brand cereal is the fact that hey, this fellow had a country! Apart from a carbon footprint, how am I ever meant to produce my mark on the world? (A plot to change the lettering on the Trump Tower rapidly develops...)
These days you've been tossed right into a crippling existential funk (which would generate- Positive Many Meanings - a fantastic band name, by the way), we need to think about the end of an recent age, like the Roaring Twenties in an economically booming America. Just about any literary functions come to mind? Maybe the Great Gatsby, which, as you'll notice, also is actually told retrospectively in the final man or women in regards to a faraway place - socio economically speaking. There's that echo once again. Similar to Ozymandias, Gatsby is driven to achieve greatness - though in the case of his, it is since he's magnetically drawn to a mysterious "single green light, minute as well as far away." Aliens? The 7 11?? An industrial strength insect zapper?!? Most likely just the light from East Egg, the truly posh part of Island that is long where his disgustingly prosperous and utterly unattainable high-school sweetheart lives.
While Gatsby's aim is not to create an actual empire, he might as well have, considering the amount of difficulty he ends up going through: he denies the family of his, changes the name of his, spends years working underground as a bootlegger, amasses a fortune, assumes a new identity, buys a huge mansion in an expensive neighborhood, after which proceeds to squander the entire life savings of his on lavish parties for entitled - how can we set this? - morons, ALL to impress a well used high-school fling that isn't particularly great to start with. (And you believed searching fun bug for sale (https://www.southwhidbeyrecord.com/) the photo of yours in someone else's locker crossed a line.) Unfortunately for Gatsby, the money runs out, the girlfriend bails out, the husband realizes, well, and Gatsby, Gatsby gets shot. The conclusion! Sort of.
Much love Ozymandias's shattered monument, Gatsby symbolically leaves a part of himself behind in that eerie green light streaming away over the bay, although this remnant does little justice to what he once was, it nevertheless underscores the emptiness of the surrounding moral wasteland. Go draw an egg, East Egg!