The Man in the Arena J. LUKE HERMAN
The man in the arena Stands alone. The bodies surround him, The bruised and broken foes, The blood that floods the floor, Reddens the yellow sand. The blades of the slain That tower above their fallen masters Like buildings in a long-forgotten battlefield. He takes his sword, A slender razor of steal, Holds it by the handle To polish its brutal edges. “I’m the man in the arena,” he scoffs, throwing his hand in the air, “Come and challenge me if you dare.” But the voice is not answered, The call never heard. For the arena is empty, And holds only one. “Come and face me.” “Come and fight.” “For death is what it takes, And to kill is what I desire.” And with a swing and a slash he cuts an invisible foe, Waiting for the day when someone will show; For glory and honor he will again bestow, To fill the void in his hollow soul. The man in the arena Stands alone.
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