Katie Roselle's© "A Collage: TrollDom Burial"
Background by Katie Roselle's: ©"Trolls A Grave Matter."

Troll Casket

There is a place of rank foreboding
somewhere between
the dark and dank.
Pasted in between the grays of
death, despair and wasted days.

The trolls are buried here
by there own hand and their own kind
where the rain drenched dead,
lie buried sobbing
not for their sins
but lack of friends,
wasted lives and might have been's.

Squandered chances!
Ransomed, rancid.

Graves are lined in and choked with ash
sooty spent, the burnt and gone.

The present, past
heaving, sighing, forlorn, dying
moving on!

Clouds encircle over head
and fog floats down
soaked in tears
both the wept and spat upon.

There is nothing like the lack of hope.
There is nothing like self pity choked.
There is nothing like the soul strangling in
the muffled why's and could have beens.

Now, hating what they were
and yet, still are
living corpses in their minds,
no longer breathing,
yet, still defined
in this habitant confined.

They're rotting stench salivates, celebrates
in this hell of dreamless sleep
coffins no more than empty coffers.
Such are they who turned away
from light and man and God.
Curled their fingers in knots
that clot and cloy, destroy and Clod.
Like dried blood sent washing down the face
of the might have beens
these lost souls,
trolls left unembraced!

There is no shadow left to cast.
Lost in muted screams
swallowing their gray, their all,
sullen, sulken skulls of ugh and gall.
Drowning again in the endless taste
of waste
lost to their penitence of pain, unchaste!

Whispers now, the promises
they never made nor kept.
Bereft and left
the troll lies here bleeding
his eternity into the ground.
No sounds, smothered.
Only the doom and gloom
of his hated womb, his ugly tomb,
his fate, his catacomb of hate!

By Linda A. Copp
August 20, 2000