Three metres of towering form.
Not quite a building but far more than norm.
My eyes stretched wide as I take it all in.
Am I dreaming or has fantasy become reality?
When the roar strikes it cuts deep.
Makes me question if I’ll soon be obsolete.
Could be but I pray it’ll be a no.
Either way my body says I need to go.
When it moves there is only death.
My heart is torn and filled with regrets.
For I am the arbiter of this fresh hell.
Aided in the forging of this immortal shell.
Troll brought to life, metal filled with strife.
Armed to the teeth, without a sense of peace.
This is my creation.
Damned deliberation.
Willed into being.
A creature murderous and seething.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 