Jarhead

I am the stroke of a sword
Swift, powerful, and deadly
Tearing through flesh with the will of a mob
Until my own breath is hacked away

I am the sand of the arena
Rough, dry, and blood-stained
Trampled on by a thousand sandals
Lusting for the next kill

I am the amusement of the Caesar
Cheap, loyal, and expendable
Catering to his visceral whims
At the cost of my humanity

I am not a man
Free, unshackled, and valued
Able to live among other men
With the ability to choose

I wonder if,
in the generations to come,
a man’s life will still be bound to his Caesar’s thumb.