A final poem.
Of you and me,
Of what we were
And could not be,
My heart is heavy
My soul is free.

I love you,
I miss you,
The End.

On metal wings the creature glides,
With metal feet it treads the skies.
Its joints sing out into the night,
Their velvet pads like shredded lies.
The starlight gleams upon its helm,
The silver turning warm yellow
Waves break over its shifting plate,
Deep sorrow softened by its glow.
Branches snap as it drops down,
Stories told about its strength.
Knuckles made of gleaming gold
Sleep reveals their dreamy length.
Cats look up into the sky,
As the automaton passes them by.

Much has happened, as this night
Cursed blessings spread a blight
O'er the fields of wheat and grain
Like an acrid, poisoned rain.
Through the darkness they all swoop
Causing plants to die and droop
Then zoom up into the sky
Away and to the moon they fly.

When I was but a babe unborn,
Still cradled in my mother's womb,
A fiend crept up to me one morn
And spoke with frost of icy tomb,
"What, pray, do you desire to hate
Because of how it chills you so?
What thing do you from now debate
To be so cruel as to forgo?
This fear will follow you through life
And plague you like a shadow deep;
Its pain will slice you like a knife
And leave you with but naught to keep."
I thought a time, and all the while
I turned from its unyielding stare,
And then at last I went the mile
As I felt strong the fiend's despair:
"I think, perhaps, the horrid thing
That will so chill me to the bone,
The thing that I will always fear,
Will be, only, to be alone."

From my tower I look down, as I do near every night,
And I see what I am left to live with by the dying light.
I can see my dear companions, playing music bittersweet,
And I still can taste the nectar of the flowers that I eat.
There is much to feel around me, like the smooth stone of my floor,
And I smell the kitchen spices fragrant just beyond my door.
My friends' songs float up to me upon the warm and sultry breeze,
And I hear their cries of brooding, weaving through the weeping trees.
Even as I long to join them, I turn back to do my work,
For I know I cannot go there, and my duties I'll not shirk.
I hath made this world of longing when I peeked beyond the veil;
Although I may hope for freedom, my creation is a jail.

I heard a knock while I, quite bored,
Had read a rather spooky book.
The door then of its own accord
Swung open, and I had to look.
Beyond it I saw raging skies,
Awash with ****** reddish hues
And there, a thing with piercing eyes
Stared right at me. I was confused
And asked it, "Who and what are you?
What do you want? Where are you from?
Dear sir, you're looking rather blue.
Come in," I said, "you seem quite glum."
The entity came through my door
And hovered there, and said one thing;
A thing that shook me to my core:
"I've come here from the Weeping Spring."

Hitherrealm is here and there,
The Highrealm past the sky,
The Deeprealm underneath us all,
The Sixtus are nearby.

The Farrealm is a nightmare,
The Lowrealm hates the heights,
The Midrealm is the world mundane,
The Sixtus dim the lights.

The Crossrealm makes connections,
The Underrealm survived,
The Overrealm is greatest,
The Sixtus have arrived.