Tony Mushrow

Colluseum - Poem by Tony Mushrow

The Colosseum

Fifty thousand Romans,
Shouting, roaring, more.
The blood, the guts,
the stink of death.
The mob baying for gore.

The gladitori stand and fight,
who’s wits are quickest,
who has the might.
Swinging swords,
and clashing shields.
A fight to the death,
no chance to yield.

You want to win, to entertain,
you yearn to hear the cheer.
But the baying mob,
wants to see your blood,
they want to smell your fear.

Screaming for flesh to rip,
blood to drip, braking bones,
and dieing moans.
The great and the good,
the common man and more.
Here to praise the god of death,
and worship at his door.

A gladiator trips and falls,
the crowd waits for the killer blow.
all eyes turns to Caesar,
the curator of this show.
Baited breath, for the position of a thumb,
Up for life and down………………….


Topic(s) of this poem: death

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 8, 2015

Poem Edited: Sunday, March 8, 2015

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