The Whispering Troll

One moment you are young
And full of innocent dreams.
The next moment you look into a mirror
To see eyes filled with years of pain
Glaring back at you,
Swimming in their own horror.

It begins at a tender age, with a sensitive, bright child eager to learn and be accepted. Something happens — some sort of abuse or tragedy that chisels away at the child’s self-image. This fracture becomes a bleeding wound as the abuse continues and self-esteem is damaged.

Thus, a window develops in the young person’s mind. That’s when the murder demon enters and plants the seed of perversion, promising acceptance and relief. Over the years the seed grows along with the carrier, poking through one defense after another, until it becomes a terrible tree, capable of reaching down and gathering up unsuspecting souls into its cruel limbs.

Once it becomes an adult tree, the only way to cure what the infestation has done to the gentle, loving child of years gone by is to either trim away its branches — or cut it down. Either way the tree dies, and along with it, the person as well.

Job 14:7-10: For there is hope of a tree,
if it be cut down, that it will sprout again,
and that the tender branch thereof will not cease.
Though the root thereof was old in the earth,
and the stock thereof die in the ground,
yet through the scent of water it will bud,
and bring forth boughs like a plant.
But man dieth, and wasteth away;
yea, man giveth up the ghost,
and where is he?

What do I see in the tree?
Subconscious strongholds
Guard each secret discreetly.
Down twisting turning tendrils
Into the dark earth I descend
To face each elusive fiend or friend.

The root of the matter started helter-skelter.
Though the young sapling grew strong,
What went wrong?
Several elements would shape its destiny,
Altering development and splitting its nature
Through adversity.
Its roots sprout!

Leapfrogging pockets of clandestine shadow.
Hollowed be the heart of sorrow,
Filled with horrors bridging gaps
Between illusion and reality.

What evil possesses crooked limbs
Reaching in the dark?
One side — the love of light.
The other — terrible dread.
‘Tis a tree both alive
And dead.

Whispering leaves call, urging, “Come.”
Adding to its total sum.
Wind, rain & lightning
Lashed at its very heart & soul
Carving a hollow where lurked
The whispering troll.

NOW AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK & KINDLE

The Making of a Serial Killer

THE MAKING OF A SERIAL KILLER 2D ED

Prologue | Reviews | Recall | Troll | Gemini | Media | Last Words

RUNCIBLE TALES | SONDRA LONDON DOTCOM

The True Story of the 1990
Gainesville Student Murders
in the Killer's Own Words.
Murder confessions & drawings
done on Death Row in Florida
during the early 1990's.
Second Edition.