In the Colosseum

His hair hangs loose, his body’s bare.

I wear the battle bloodied uniform of my rank.

Was it not I, my Emperor, who grew up beside you?  Held your hand when the surgeon cut, stood by you to shoulder the scorn of your father the Emperor Past?

Was it not I who led your legions to victory?

Have I betrayed you?  By your orders I stand in this arena to fight a barbarian before thousands of your intoxicated subjects.  Is this how I shall die?  In shame?

All my life I’ve protected you, and you’ve left to make my grave.