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