A Gladiators Lament

Creatives in the Commu...

Aug 29

Written By

a poem by Victoria Zammit

50,000

A victorymeans
nothing.

The cheeringcrowds
forget your name
when the next champion
catchestheir eye –

Always in betterarmour,
wielding better weapons.

I hand over somegold
and hope for the best.

40,000

How many times
canI stand the cheering
before it becomes
white noise?

I hand over somegold
and curse the gods.

30,000

I consider buying
ananimal
and setting it free
to maul
and growl
anddo what it does best.

Am I any better thanit?

I hand over somegold
and dream of revenge.

20,000

There isn’t enoughpatience
in Pandora’s Box
to pull me through this.

I watch the way
theylook at me -
I know
they do not see
beyond the metalplating.

I hand over somegold
and pray for this to be over.

10,000

I almost lost alimb
and had considered that
a blessing.

The word‘almost’
lives in the spaces
of possibility.

Maybe being acripple
would have saved me
from this.

I hand over somegold
and consider the alternatives.

5,000

I’ve stoppedcounting.

I hand over somegold
and know it’s not enough.

200

For what it’sworth
his kindness has been
good.

Themeals,
maidens,
weapons
and wine

have beenenough to satisfy
most men.

I am not most men.

I hand over somegold
and think of mutiny.

Freedom tastes
likewasted years
in a sand pit

and I am a feralanimal
learning to be wild again.

I pocket some gold
and walk away.

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