The Gladiator
He stood there, gritted teeth, sword aloft
one foot on the slain Gladiator
would they let him live
honour him with the platinum ring
a ring from that albino of metals
or would they thrust him through
pierce the unbleached cotton shirt
turn the clean bone to blood red
the raised arm of the lady
the lady beside the emperor
that lily white arm, begging for life
he looked up at the blue sky
the whitish cotton wool of the clouds
then with the raising of his arm
the emperor gave him his life
conquest was sweeter than honey
sweeter than the sugar
harvested from beet of the fields
he would live but fight no more
his last fight was the right to live
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