I live through much; torn and tormented,
Crackling leaves engage my eyes in bloody rituals,
Blood and sand have become compatriots,
As each gladiator falls, the sand relishes,
Corpses are strewn all over, some heads hoisted on spears,
Scathing winds transport remorse in the camp,
As men wail as brats; a missing limb, a torn heart.
Dust shrill as Crassus and his legions visit,
Grunts tear the sky and groaning feet fall occasionally,
Wind bites the souls that leave too soon,
Tattered hopes scamper from Capua to unknown places,
The sky weeps and the battle intensifies,
The gods can’t help, they flinch at the mention of – arbitrate!
War is bitter it proves but we recoil not.
Piling bodies hide the sun and the battlefield darkens.
As swords hiss, reminiscing on the arena becomes sweet,
Because rip was mostly fun but this agony cuts deeply.
The Appian alleys destroys warriors and savages alike,
Men plummet to their death on miscreant rocks from weeping chariots, As blisters no longer matter but survival burns.
Death spirals in harrowing sounds and time seeds no effort.
Overwhelmed from the grief and gladiators brutishness and blades,
The cry for freedom of six thousand slaves,
Is diminished, as laughing crosses beckon for a body each.
Nails whiplash with joy as they tear through our flesh and bones,
We hang precariously from our loving crosses – defeated!
And tears shoot through our eyes like rattling snakes tails,
Deformed and weak, we painfully await our impending death!
© Eddy Ongili