The reality of an illusion

Here's the poem I submitted for Shaastra/Kurukshetra/Pragyan for short story. The original was at Shaastra and the other two are a modified version (which, by my own admission, is not as good as the first). I tried to keep it as close as the original but some of the changes caused excessive divergence. Leave your opinion in the comments section.

The reality of an illusion

The door swung ajar as the clock struck nine;

For, not a day passed without him on time.

He rolled in leaving a slight trail of slime

That basked in the twin suns’ early morn shine.

As he moved in, the side door slid, showing

Her trembling form behind the seat it hid.

One tentacle motioned for her to come

As another closed on a draught of rum.

She stood at her seat, pale as a young wraith

And walked in, clutching to her bosom, faith.

A slug in a bad mood was all but rare

And add to one, drink, it leaves but despair.

She stood before him with eyes gone red,

Her courage amassing within.

All the night’s crying in her lonely bed

Had worn her rather thin.

He drew out notes from the top of the pile

And looked at the ones marked ‘bad’;

Asked with a darkly lit smile

If it was all she ever had.

She stared back holding in tears,

And asked for another chance.

Watching them for millions of years

Left her wanting more than a last glance.

His face screwed up as the rum hit him

In unison with her renewed plea.

His eyes became cloudy near the rim

And dark as a storm at sea.

“Of course not!”, he yelled at her face,

“You’ve had enough. They do

Nothing but fight in a dizzy craze

And you know that too.”

Her face softened, her tears began to slide,

All she could do was pray.

Even if reason was on his side,

That little world could not go gray.

“They are my children”, she began.

“I’ve seen them grow for so long.

I’ve witnessed every plan,

Every right and every wrong.”

“And that is why”, he replied,

“exactly why you must see.

For our profits to stay high,

That one cannot be.

Nobody wants to buy a world

That is covered in carnage.”

“But they are harmless”, she protested,

“and will learn with age.”

“Mostly”, he corrected her.

“And I’ve given you your order.

If you want to work here, get rid of

That chunk of disorder.”

She could do no more for this little world

But she would be there for the rest.

After all, they needed her

Like younglings, their nest.

She hardened her heart and went to the back

Where the heart of the system lay.

All the worlds were on neatly stacked racks

As she had left them the previous day.

She told herself this had been coming,

It was no surprise.

With sentience came a choice of two -

Peaceful existence or eventual demise.

With quivering fingers

She turned on the terminal

And searched among the worlds

Dying and germinal.

She found the one he wanted erased

And bid it a teary goodbye.

And she commanded the system,

Barely hiding her sigh,

“Commence editing”. The terminal

Replied, “Data required: Complete”

With a tear rolling, she replied,

“World: Earth. Delete.”