The pillars arise as though from the earth itself, pale as a cloud's mirror.
Reflecting a majectic magnificence of artistry perfected for the Gods' pleasure.
The roar of a crowd within could be heard miles away, as though a storm growing near.
The blood and battle were sacrifice, the cost was life, treated as no one's treasure.

Swords were sharpened, armor was polished. Aprehension made strong by death.
Chains of servitude sang a chorus in the hypogeum, and agonized cries of beasts shook the walls.
The Gods were praised by blood and scenes of gore, as of Hell's breath.
Favor was won only by the crowd, a victory showered by praise, a deafening roar when beast or man falls.

The gleaming pillars show centuries of blood, martyrdom, murder. Victory and Defeat, well known through the ages.
Many have come, many have perished, many more legends are narrated in homes.
The echo is still heard of the crowd's glory, of beast and man alike in cages.
History is beknownst here, amid the pillars of the Colosseum of ancient Rome.