In the Arena

deep in the dark they goad through a tunnel blinking
into blinding explode, wooden spears sinking
blooded brown matted hair, a roaring growling bear
entering arena, where crowds thirst massacre.
we are each one that bear, we are each one that crowd
made in our despair, as we cry out aloud
unto the sun sent day, our lust for spilt blood
on the shifting sands fey, where our lives are rubbed
out. mortal tragedies, destined we compound, bound
in anomynities, to their funeral mounds;

now the gladiators enter the arena:
double, double, double in toil & trouble;
the crowd from their tiers with fluttering banners
mumble, stumble, tumble, crumble into rubble.

Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2004
All rights reserved.