Trolls

They think of themselves
as mere campaigners
in a big, big war.  

They inflame
wherever they sit. Ignition’s
a self-granted wish.

They have hands full of triggers,
are willing to pull them
to get their way.

They opened up this casket 
and now they’re going
to have to lie in it.

They didn’t see that coming.
They never see it coming; it’s why
they never go away.

Look at how scorched the earth is
everywhere they’ve been. You’d think
they’d be longing to chill by now

after all this burning,
but not them, never them. 
They dig the heat out of Hell,

swing it around,
then blame the fuel
for turning to ash, blame the burned

for being burned, blame the fire
for burning the burned and
the fuel. Then they 

whistle their innocence,
and look for someone to hand them
another match.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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