Prehistoric cobwebs,
A tomb of tomes,
A long lost citadel,
Where spirits now roam.

I sit back and watch,
As helpless as can be,
As they take my soul,
Right away from me.

It spins and it splutters,
Then falls to the ground,
And then with their shoes,
On it they pound.

Why do they do this,
I just don’t see,
I won’t be in their collection,
No way, not me.

So I focused on my soul,
With my lasting power,
And it shot straight up,
Leaving a crystalline shower.

It flew in a circle,
Flipped and then dove,
Into the Collectors,
Then turned over to rove.

It danced and swerved,
And dashed and spun,
But the Collectors, too slow,
Gave up on their run.

They fainted immediately,
Worn out from the chase,
Defeated by a spirit,
Full of mesmerizing grace.

My spirit flew in a circle,
Flipped and then dove,
Into my body,
Where it would forever rove.

I got up and refocused,
Looked around the old hole,
And left the Collectors,
With one less soul.