Thursday, 17 March 2011


He mirrors a mask

A profile camouflaged

Anonymous he prowls

A hiss, a venomous spit

You know he is around

A ruinous mind, a callous tongue

Dubious descendants

Around he hangs

Suave, svelte, smooth as silk

Till he belches fire and gore

An abuse, slang, blame, a barb

Prickly thorns, thistles sharp

I meet him often

On my poems and tales

So do others

As he snakes and slithers

My soul sis tasted the poison and said

“Oh don’t bother! He’s a troll”

I shook my head and said,

“No! I think he’s just a troubled soul”

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