The gladiator faced a fierce deadly foe
forced into the arena
stained with blood of many men before
hostile crowds jeering
shouting abuse with an increasing fire
a savage death their desire!
No shade the sun burnt unprotected skin
sweat poured from each pore
clad in leather armour and metal helmet
with growing agitation
watching his opponent slowly advance
to quickly kill the chance!
Holding sharp swords and small shields
to maximise the injuries
every blow followed by a baying crowd
sapping their strength
chunks of flesh gouged by pitiless slashes
with the increased clashes!
The superior champion gladiator parried
knowing how to defeat
overpowering without mercy his quarry
hacking him to the ground
the final merciful strike raised a cheer
the death bloody and severe!
Lifting his dripping sword above his head
saluting crowd and dignitary
triumphant and proud the people’s hero
another victory achieved
impassive while body was hastily removed
again his superiority proved!
The gladiator proudly went to receive his trophy!
The Foureyed Poet.
Malctg - #TheFoureyedPoet.
#TheFoureyedPoet. 
No trophy for me … ever … but feel like a gladiator many a times in my job (working on a busy acute psychiatric ward) … be well, eh? Love, cat.
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Hi Cat. I have worked in the NHS for nearly forty five years! The Health Service often feels like a battle field. Take Care. The Foureyed Poet.
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“sharp swords and small shields to maximise the injuries” is a perfect description
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