for ever and ever

the wheel is ugly and spiteful;

the spokes - grandiose and dangerous.

a gladiator? you are not. you

are but a helpless lamb

thrown into the arena

to be butchered;

oh yes, my dear -

slaughtermen would fight among themselves

to become the one who tears your flesh,

in a scorching roar of the crowd.

mercy is non-existent;

you will

die.

now,

only for a moment,

mesmerising (agonising?) !

a little cub is showing his teeth.

He wishes to fight,

yes,

he is fighting, indeed; growing stronger by day.

His muscles a spring,

His claws iron candent,

Himself a raging justice.

Victorious, he stands

over dozens upon dozens

upon dozens of the dead,

as humans, so animals;

a flicker of pride in a myriad of sorrows.

yes, my dear cub,

you are so strong, oh dear cub,

even the skies have learnt your name,

yet my heart knows not pride,

there is only sorrow.

woe to you, oh my champion,

for the fight has no end.

and so he fights,

and so he will die,

too.

the crowd is amused any way,

but do not hate them.

their turn to stroll

about in the colosseum

will come soon enough.

the kaleidoscopes are turning,

in gurgling laughter a horror is born,

but do not pity them,

for they have sown the wind,

and they shall reap the whirlwind.

and i will walk a thousand years,

and a thousand stars will be born,

and cain will kill abel again,

and a thousand stars will perish,

and i shall weep a thousand tears,

and i shall weep a thousand tears.