Soul Thief Poem by Doris Dzameshie

In the sterile halls, she glides,
Flowing white hair like a spectral tide.
Her left eye, piercing blue while her right eye is dull green, seek souls to steal,
As if she alone can glimpse their ethereal zeal.

In scrubs, she limps, a curious sight,
Dragging a cellophane bag, transparent and light with gold trimmings.
Her footsteps echo, a haunting refrain,
As she hunts for souls, both joy and pain.

The souls who slumber, minds half-awake,
Are her quarry—into the bag, they quake.
She heaves it along, pretending its weight,
Yet it's a see-through bag, a vessel for fate.
One wonders why an empty bag is vibrating as if in a hurricane.

Heavy doors loom ahead, bold and stark,
No exit, they warn, as she steps into the light outside.
Behind her, they slam shut, sealing her fate,
The world inside forgotten; her mission innate.

She opens the bag, souls flutter and soar,
Into eternity, they vanish. Her form shifts, translucent, almost divine,
As she waves to the departing souls, a silent signal.
And then she bursts forth, unburdened and free,
Dancing, laughing, hands clapping with glee.
Alleluia echoes through the sterile halls,
For the Soul Thief in scrubs, no longer limps.