God on the arena
I’m only a slave in the crowd of the arena,
another mortal creature watching you fight.
I follow the shadow of dead on your skin,
the anger upon your divine face,
the sword creeping in a dangerous dance,
but I won’t let a tear out,
like every scared soul on the tribune.
God on the arena,
I will have faith in you when the blood rains on the sand,
when the blades kill with glowing spikes.
I won’t close my eyes in prayer
when the sun reflects on your shield.
I will rise to greet the final combat,
knowing you will come a victor and
I will be the one to offer you a honey wine,
a kiss that will erase the trace of blood,
the wounds from knives and enemies.
© 2011 Broken Sparkles