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The Song Of Spartacus
“Death is the only freedom a slave knows.”
He grew up as a warrior-for-hire,
more than ready to walk through fire.
He went and joined the Roman Legion,
and he fought through every season.
But his officers were very cruel,
and he had to eat a lot of gruel.
He got mad and left for Thrace,
heading back to his birth place.
The Romans hunted him down,
and on him they did pound.
They sentenced him to the mines in Libya.
No one cared, not even Zibia.
Years later a fat lanista bought him,
thinking he was very strong, and dim.
He was trained to be a gladiator,
he had no friends and no mediator.
He fought well and lived on,
getting his revenge one red dawn.
He and a hundred more,
killed the guards, and smashed the door.
He was the leader of a slave revolt,
songs were sung, words were wrote.
He battled the Romans for two years,
died on a cross in a veil of tears.
We sing of him even today,
songs of freedom, keeping evil at bay.
He died as he lived, in chains,
but his spirit rises from the flames.
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub