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Connor Apr 2020
You stand victorious, the crowd cheers your name.

The sound, like a wave upon the shore.

You walk, the broken lying around you like fallen branches.

Flashes of the battle that just ensued.

You were surprised it lasted as long as it did.

But as the dust settles you think to yourself "How the hell did I survive..... again?"
YAYATHI Jun 2019
I am the body sans its soul
I am dressed in fancy work attire
I glow like any gentleman's body
I look like the master of my world

I step into the ergonomical work world
Only that in real it's a glass walled Colosseum

There is a Caesar up there in a throne
There are lot of cheers for me
But at the end of the day
I am just a slave dressed up as gladiator

The arena is set; mud covers yesterday's blood
Gods of the sky, be around
Soak up my sweat if I live through the day
Soak up my blood, if I dont make it that way.

The fight is on, villains galore
Sometimes they are the warriors dressed up in gold
Some times they are the monstrous beasts thirsty for my blood
Either ways it is a battle for life and bread.

The day is coming to close..
Doesn't matter whether I win or lose
I end up kneeling down
At the end of Caesar's throne

What will the Caesar do now?
Doesn't matter any how
I have to return here tomorrow
Without my soul in tow
G Rog Rogers Nov 2017
Gladiators wear
a twisted smile
More than a
little bit askew

The snarl of
disdainful contempt
and the optimism
of the eventual win

For him it's just
another judgment
day again

Confident in the outcome
His preparation is for war
Knowledge of the victories
triumphed in before

Behind the stoid steel facade
He glares upon the prey
Another snarling man
who expects to win the day

The adversary also
He wears the twisted smile
Expecting that
the man He sees
is another man whom
He will slay

For every day is
judgment day


Vanquish* or Vanish ,
That’s what they said,
Before I embraced the valour,
Of the dead,
Silence since reigns,
These dungeons deep,
I was a Gladiator,
Who chose to weep.

The Arena that chanted ,
My mighty name,
The mellow maiden,
Who whispered the same;
They are but fractions,
Of an empire lost,
For passion sparked,
At honour's cost.

Gladiators will come,
And gladiators will go,
And yet,
None will dare embrace
His fallen foe.
The crowd will cheer,
As the Cowards will roar,
While I will weep,
At my dungeon door.
Vincent Nov 2014
Standing outside the coliseum
He wipes his tattered brow
As he waits in chains
And what remains
Of a worn and used nightgown

The oak doors creak as they slowly bow
He walks the axis road
The dogs at his heels, he knows, he feels
Pains that have been bestowed

A table is set upon which blades rest
The choice of which he makes
He reaches forward, picks up the sword
No room here for mistakes

The helmet is hot, he feels his breath
As he walks upon the field
He is a trapped snake inside a crate
He raises up his shield

His adversary stood there watching
With a shaking fretful eye
They prepared to fight until deaths bite
Took and run them dry

With one fell swing of the sword
He brings his foe down
The steel glistens in the sunlight
Enhanced with the smell of blood

The crowd cheers and roars
What do they know of it?
The life he has taken
It cannot be replaced

He is trapped inside
He cries for freedom inside
Slowly he dies inside
Inside himself.
Blue Sweater Sep 2014
The thing that kills me most
Shattering me from within
Is not the absence of your shield
But this abrupt awareness
Of the awful emptiness
That has now settled into the place
Which hope has just vacated.
I ride out into the colloseum
Battle-clad in armour
Club swinging, sword at the ready
A quiver full of arrows
Just to defend you.
But I will fall at the very first shot
This armour I call my skin
Will be the death of me.
Because the truth is
You were my armour
You were my shield
And then I realised you never were.

— The End —