Arena

The God of hell fire (scream); damn if I’ll get free now.. They dragged me into the arena and tight up my forelegs. My existence steams through the nostrils and my blood gushing and drumming in my ears. It is loud and the curtains are falling in front of my eyes, the straining efforts consuming the oxygen and vacuum my mind; why my weight is pulling me to the ground; just not fall, not lie still. The new born is unsafe, the wild animals are tearing in its flesh and I am bound to watch; can only kick with my behind legs in the thin air. When I get a kick in the ribs the public screams with delight and the applause is louder in the arena. The taste of dust and the smell of mixed blood with sweat is blending my conception, the vision of the rests of the new born thrown on the grass is maddening my mind, but the masculine knows, as I know, I must not forget, if I dare to let loose I am lost and the new born as well. Oh, what is the sharp pain in my side, oh Gods of Samaria, oh lords of the seas, oh masters of the ocean storms and the skies and all, my legs are collapsing and my eye is shut off and my back is not reacting to my wish; the visions and images of the new born are still sliding in frames in front of my eyes, moving past the black flacks, there is no music of the family in my ears, the noises are subsiding and reducing and sounding remote and fading; what is that noise? Why it is so loud, the noise of my own airs leaving my own nostrils. My own nostrils. M’ on nstils. My ow…