(A/N: Just another poem I wrote... I think it fits Otto Octavius so I put it up for people to read. )

Cost of things

The dark is my home,

it's where I shall stay,

And I creep here forever,

Day after day.

Dead or alive,

it is unclear.

I stay here forever,

And I am feared.

Shadows my home,

It's where I stayed.

Day after day,

until Death took me away.

I haunt the plains now.

This dark... Is me.

I am forever alone...

This light... Cannot be.

The graves here are kind,

the spirits still live.

But as long as we're hated,

That's how it is.

We stay in our post,

We can never leave.

For that is the price,

And people never grieve

of our loss,

The death and the price

and to think of the cost..

That was never our choice