The Games

The Games

Encircled, a swarm of strangers faces,

an audience bearing only torches,

cool, winded soil under foot

and the sound of metal on the wind

 

Drip drop, the sound of blood

slowly drenching the ground below

and the only enemy has fallen

to a place you wish to never know.

 

Alien men and women grow

louder to a deafening cheer,

and yet you feel regret,

for a brother lies dead before you here.

 

The large gate opens

and down you decend

to the catacombs

of which, there is no end.

 

Time stands still

for a moment or two,

then you hear the crowd again

cheering and calling for you.

 

Standing up slowly,

you reach for your knife,

prepared to kill a brother,

to spare your own life.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Sounds like a gladiator's memoir. I think that to remain standing and breathing was the only medal those poor guys got.