by Nick Gisburne
He scribbles slogans, messages of hate,
Collecting them together in a jar.
His tiny scraps of bitterness are bait,
Enticing those he covets, from afar.
To catch himself a feckless, foolish mind,
He ties his tasty titbits to a hook.
The gullible are never hard to find.
Too feeble to resist, they always look.
He wades into the waters as they bite,
And finds another feisty fish to fry,
A muddled minnow, easy to excite.
He toys with it, with every barbed reply.
He thinks himself the bravest of the brave,
A troll, alone, in darkness, in a cave.
