Colosseum…
(Thoughts about my visit in 2004…)
Warrens of stone walls
Beneath ground-level
Overgrown with tufts of pale grass.
Seemed too empty.
No echoes of roaring beasts
Nor reminders of lamplit gore,
Nor screams of the lacerated,
Nor smells of death
And fetid entrails…
No.
Just cold apologies for corridors.
The sad warrens of foreign walls…
Crumbling of immense walls
Within stadium confines
Weathered by time and rain.
Seemed too stark.
No soul-rending deja-vous,
Nor memories of combat,
Nor excruciating pain,
Nor pangs of death
And falling into a void…
No.
Just cold misery for my surroundings.
The sad crumbling of foreign walls…
Pete Ray
As a teacher in Birmingham’s Museum & Art Gallery, I would often produce sessions in role as a Centurion, Petronius Fortunatus, who visited Britain twice during his unusually long lifetime and children were able handle artefacts…
I was a little disappointed by the Colosseum, I guess, which contained modern seating for the next concert recital…
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