A weekly light — poetry, stories, and reflections from the strange in-between.

The Troll’s Liturgy

The troll squats on his throne of scraps,
flies buzzing round his crown of sewage.
He feasts on fury,
slurping it down like marrow from cracked bone.

We clap for the spectacle,
a circus of vomit and sparks,
our screens smeared with bile
as if bile were holy oil.

Craft is strangled in the alley,
truth is beaten with a tire iron,
while the jester pisses on the stage
and calls it performance art.

The algorithm howls approval—
every shriek a hymn,
every insult a prayer bead
slipped between greasy fingers.

This is the new liturgy:
worship the troll,
crown the clown,
kneel in the landfill
and call it a temple.

Lantern Note:
Some monsters aren’t born in caves or shadows — we build them, pixel by pixel, and call it progress.

This one came from staring too long at the glow — at what we’ve become when applause is measured in outrage.

Not every haunting needs a ghost. Some just need Wi-Fi.

🕯 The Lantern’s lit every Thursday — a new poem, story, or reflection each week.
Follow along here or on Instagram @wrightspoetry to catch the next light.