Katie Roselle's "A Collage: TrollDom Burial"
background also Katie Roselle's: "Trolls, A Grave Matter."

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!

August 20, 2000

By

Lady LaMythica

Linda A. Copp 

By Lady LaMythica, Linda A. Copp © All rights reserved World Wide
including but not limited to 1970-2014

Myrdraal from wheel of time themes by Stig Vegar