Gladiator. Poem by Christopher Thomas

Born only to fight
bred only to die,
I am in the arena
still wondering why?
wounds wrack my body
blood stains the sand,
why am I stood here
with a sword in my hand?
The aggressors keep coming
to maim and to kill,
trained to assassinate me
so I kill them at will.
The dead number many
not all deserving of death,
brave though they were
now they sigh their last breath.
How long can I endure this?
why did this come to pass?
there are still no answers
to the questions I ask.
Now a tiger is roaming
and a lion comes too,
I take up a trident
whilst I keep them in view.


Both kept in starvation
preying on me for food,
my strength must hold strong
if I am to win this feud.
I thrust and I lunge
slashing artery and bone,
the lion goes down
leaving the tiger alone.
It is wary and agile
purpose built for the kill
the spectators rise up
adrenalin feeding their thrill.
We have instincts in common
this tiger and I,
for one to survive
the other must die.
With no advance warning
it leaps at my form,
I strike with my trident
like lightning in storm!
Such barbaric impalement
stops its motion in flight,
the trident sinks deep
and the barbs make their bite.
As if in slow motion
the beast falls to the ground,
the hush of the galleria
casts a deafening sound.
As I look all around me
I at last stand alone,
the victor in battle
with the king at his throne.
With his thumb held aloft
I am his champion this day,
no gold pieces for me
staying alive is my pay.
I have vanquished the bravest
and slain all of their best,
neither lions nor tigers
could stop me in my quest.
I stand exhausted and bleeding
a bloodied sword in my hand,
I’m surrounded by dead bodies
warm blood irrigates the sand.
How did all of this happen?
why is it I am not dead?
confused with these thoughts
echoing around in my head.
A bell tolls in the distance
the sound clears my head,
it was all just a dream
and I’m safe in my bed!

Phew!