The Things

Hello! this is my original story, please don't edit or copy. also this is kind of long because it's like a very long poem. (I think the technical term id 'epic poem')
trigger warnings: violence, death
Chapter One
Now
Scattered, disconnected thoughts.
Ideas lost.
Ideas found.
Ideas forgotten.
Ideas changed.
Ideas repeated.
Ideas of things
That feel right;
Ideas of things
That feel wrong.
Ideas of memories
So long ago
Just a haze of a blur.
Too distant to touch.
As far as the clouds,
As close as the dirt,
The grass,
The trees.
The dirt that drinks the blood.
Soaks it up.
Gone.
The grass that eats the body.
Swallows it whole.
Gone.
The trees that take the breath.
Lock it away.
Gone.
Nothing but memory and fear is left.
Fear of the Things.
The Things that creep.
Don’t turn your back.
The Things that crawl.
Don’t try to run.
The Things that hide.
Don’t try to find them.
The Things that swim.
To lead ships astray.
The Things that fly.
To steal the clouds.
The Things that swallow the moon.
Again and again.
The Things that drink the starlight.
It might as well be hope.
The Things that buzz.
A warning to flee.
The Things that laugh.
A terrible cackle.
The Things that steal.
Hope and joy and light.
The Things that kill.
The worst of them all.
The Things who steal innocent breath.
The Things who sink teeth into youthful flesh.
The Things who take
The dirt,
The grass,
The trees,
The Things who take innocent nature and transform it
From dirt,
From grass,
From trees
And twist it into weapons.
The dirt drinks the blood.
The grass eats the body.
The tree takes the breath.
It was not always this way.
Once, before the Things,
You could run.
As far and as fast
As you pleased.
The waters were safe,
Crystal blue.
The clouds were white, puffy-fluffy blobs.
The moon rose and fell,
A silver diamond.
The starlight was hope.
There were no warnings,
No reasons to flee.
No terrible cackles;
Laughter was a merry sound.
There was hope;
There was joy;
There was light.
There was no stealing.
There was no killing.
The dirt grew flowers,
Pink, orange, yellow and blue.
The grass grew food.
Plants of grain,
Plants of fruit,
Plants of vegetables.
The trees grew food nuts and fruit.
The trees were shelter.
The trees were wisdom.
The trees are the oldest creatures,
But they have been twisted;
From shelter,
From wisdom;
To destruction,
To stupidity,
To death and to gloom.
By the Things
When they came.
The Things that burn.
The Things that lie.
The Things that weep.
The Things that crawl.
The Things that Slither.
The Things that lurk.
The Things that stalk.
The Things that smile.
The Things that hunt.
The Things that roar.
The Things are bad.
They have one mission:
Create fear.
They help each other.
They create as much fear as they can.
Nothing stops them.
Everybody fears the Things.
Still they continue.
Burning.
Lying.
Stealing.
Drinking the starlight.
Swallowing the moon.
Killing.
They will not stop.
They will not stop because a kernel of hope remains.
Whispers of a creature.
A creature
Of light;
Of hope;
Of joy.
A creature
Of dirt;
Of grass;
Of trees.
A creature of the way things used to be.
A creature of the paradise
That was before.
A creature who will come
And save everyone.
The stories of the creature differ.
Some say that it created the paradise 
Of the past for us,
That the Things were a mistake,
That the creature will come
And fix that mistake.
Some say the creature was killed by the Things,
Others say the creature was never real.
In some stories, 
The creature is nature,
Living and walking.
In other stories, 
The creature is space.
The sun.
The moon.
The stars.
Bands of galaxies.
Wrapped into a single shape.
There are also stories that say the creature is
Silver,
Diamonds,
Gold,
Sapphires,
Rubys,
Emeralds,
Opals,
And all types of crystal,
Wound into the shape of an animal.
Whatever may be true,
There is a kernel of hope.
A kernel of ridiculous hope.
How can one creature defeat all the Things?
There are many kinds of Things.
Lots of each kind.
The Things spread and grow.
They take up space.
There are too many Things.
The planet of paradise should have been filled long ago.
But it seems to expand.
It seems like the planet that was once one of paradise will never be full.
Never stop growing.
Never stop being filled with people.
Never stop being filled with Things.
All the many Things.
Too many Things.
More and more.
Too many people
That the Things can hurt,
That the Things can scare.
More and more people.
Chapter Two
Then