Gladiator

In ancient times of Kings and Queens,

a Roman Empire begins to lean.

One side wants freedom, the other war,

they kneel as they listen to Cesar roar.

Both enter arena, a dry dusty stage,

and face one another in turbulent rage.

With hard plated steel that sits on each chest,

now is the time for this battle of quest.

Blade touching blade the crowd starts to stir,

there is only one name on their lips they prefer.

"Maximus,'' it's the reason they came,

this Gladiators fight surely won't be in vain.

It won't be much longer and soon it will end,

this fight made in hell leaving both to defend.

It doesn't take long for that blood curdling groan,

a sharpened edge sword enters straight to the bone.

With eye to eye contact there's force with much strength,

the blade now in Caesar with much of its length.

This battle for freedom has finally won,

he'd settled a score for his wife and dead son.

As Caesar dies falling, hard to the ground,

his people in awe do not utter a sound.

With heated breath shallow, Gladiator worn,

he stumbles around injured, bloodied and torn.

But this battle of right ends with a vision so clear,

as he touches the distance, his family near.

For freedom he fought for a future to grow

as he walks the fields where a harvest he'll sew.