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About This Poem
Trident
Years of training
Endure the death of many
Satisfying Caesar’s whim
The baying crowd shout,
They seek blood, I seek freedom
I stand face to face with death
My trident in hand
I muster God’s given strength
To strike my enemy dead
He lunges, I strike!
With empty eyes, angry heart
His weapon drops to the floor
He falls to his knees
The crowd fall silent and wait
For the final blow of death
Death is his freedom!
He asks for a quick, clean kill
It strikes his heart and my soul
© 16/5/2012
for Amy's Choka contest..
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