Combat
Have you been to the Coliseum? People die there with glory. They stand fearlessly facing off in the ultimate fight to the death. Some will walk away or perhaps limp away to the acclaim of thousands. The others will be relegated to the dust bin of history. The losers. The ones without the luck who managed to not pull off the fatal blow, who ducked instead of rolling to the left. The ones who should have held their shields up high or further to the left.
Why do they go there day after day? If memory serves, they are condemned, fighting for freedom as they entertain the leisure class spending a warm day in the stone amphitheater. If for some the match ends in death, they died with honor defending their right to face an enemy in the ultimate battle. A role model for those who are willing to wrestle the grim reaper.
The spectators are the beautiful people. They would never consider taking up the sword or the spear or chance staining their togas with blood. They witness the event for edification. To improve their moral understanding of life and living.
Have you purchased your ticket? Even if you can’t afford the expensive seats, near the center, you can still witness the event from the pits.
The difficult job is cleaning up after the fact. All those arms and legs, broken shields and torsos scattered over the killing field of blood.
You can’t have a war if nobody watches. They do it for you, the audience. If the audience stays away, the war comes to an end. Nobody kills just for the killing. They do it to make you free.
I feel that freedom descending on me now as Iwalk away. I turn my eye for lust of battle to search my inner soul for truth. I will sit quietly with a young child on my lap and make music with a reed. Draw pictures in the sand. Watch the waves lap the shore.
If someone here wants to harm me, come forward that we may have a cup of tea as civilized men and toast health to each other. Then, you can leave me in peace and kill me from behind. When no one is watching.
Not even me.
I will have lived without glory.
Singing songs of love.
Free from being compelled to watch others clutching combat in the search for glory.
Bob