The crowd rages with anger,
the gladiators await inside the stadium,
all tightly gripping their weapons,
listening to the chanting.
The cages go up,
the warriors fiercly approach each other,
screaming out the words of Caesar,
eagarly running quicker.
Battles to the death,
the rain starts to fall,
draining the blood of the dead warriors,
as they lye awake but unconcious.
The gashes bleed,
the eyes tremble,
the final warriors square off,
to judge the real warrior.
They release the horsemen,
killing every soul,
as archers lined in rows,
take down the riding warriors.
"May the best man win"
Caesar calls out,
but the lions were released,
and there are now larger problems.
Either ripped to shreds,
or cut to the bone,
the warriors all howl in pain,
as one by one they fall.
And awkward silence occurs,
as the crowd awaits for survival,
as no man stands to reveal victory,
the souls now walk the earth in confusion and stupidity.
