Shadows, Stolen Souls

A friend of mine challenged me to write something about shadows versus stolen souls. While not my favourite piece, I thought I'd post it anyway for comment.

Wanton dances shook the coals
as the Shadows,
guardians of the stolen souls,
surveyed the fresh crop,
ripe for torment, anguish and pain.
How they laughed as fiery rain
pierced the ghostly flesh.
They cackled at the souls diress.

One soul sat, a stoic among the rest.
He did not move, did not flinch,
did not open an eye. "What jest is this,"
the Shadows asked, "no pain, no stench, no wailing cry?"

The stolen soul looked up.
"Gentlemen, my spirit has for many years
eluded you. I have been called by many names.
To the ancients, a prophet,
To Shakespeare, a merchant's muse,
To the earth, a leader, a lover,
messenger of peace.

I have known I would be stolen in this time,
for many years. I do not fear you,
I will not die, for stolen souls
are simply shadows in the light.
We're not that different really,
you and I, are we?"