The Craft

April 8, 2012
By Toby Caple BRONZE, Lake Forest Park, Washington
Toby Caple BRONZE, Lake Forest Park, Washington
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

BAM, there I was, separated from all but my hands,
Eyes flicking right, towards the hills, and back toward the sands,
I thought quickly, searching the terrain,
Not one spot fit my ideals, the land was so plain.

I stepped forwards, into the waterless beach,
My only friend were cacti, I always kept them at reach,
With only haggard plant nectar to sip,
My hope undoubtedly started to slip.

But I had faith in this barren plain,
I had to, else my journey be in vain,
And then I stumbled upon my salvation,
A forest, clearly something of divine creation.

I quickly broke apart a tree, as I was its master,
I made my tools fast, yet broke them faster,
I remembered, ‘Wood is known to displease’,
Never should I have trusted those feeble pine trees.

So I pondered, what should I make?
How should I carry on, for the creator's sake?
I then proposed, I would move down the line,
To construct my cobblestone, into a pick, so fine.

I cut away at the earth, alone with my thoughts,
Receiving nothing in return, hitting all the wrong spots,
That was, until I saw that ludicrous coal,
I cheered, and swung away at my accomplished goal.

With that coal, came light,
Flame ignited, now I had sight,
So I dug, I dug and dug a little more,
Until my stone pick, finally hit cavern floor.

Slapping my torch down, I surveyed the surrounding,
I saw many things, but one was astounding.
A new rock, orange but grey,
It was iron, I saw that my efforts would now repay.

I ascended, returning to my hut,
Making sure to keep my door all the way shut
Using leftover coal to light a fire so hot,
That the iron melted into one rectangular slot.

I bent, I twisted, I sharpened, and I curved,
All the way until got a tool, only true miners deserved,
A pick made of iron, but that was not all,
I made armor, a sword, and boots that made me tall.

Now I was ready, I didn’t skip a beat,
I was ready to fight, never again to retreat,
So I descended, returning to my cave,
Only hoping this wouldn’t be my grave.

And there he was, the fabled green beast,
Only told of in legends, on sulfur he was said to feast.
But I ran forth, knowing retreat was not an option,
Knocking back the beast, just missing his eruption.

The green one had been dispatched, but he left a crater in his wake
When I looked inside, I thought it of it fake.
A blue material, with a shine greater than the stars,
Almost as unbelievable as life on mars.

I took this gemstone back into my den,
Where lined up three bits, and made a pick once again.
I raised my newest achievement up into the sky,
“With this diamond pick, I am UNSTOPPABLE”, said I

I heard a deep voice, I knew I couldn’t take on,
It said “Get off the computer Steve.” (Followed by a yawn),
“It’s 3 in the morning, why don’t you give it a rest?”
So I quit out of Minecraft, feeling somewhat oppressed.

The author's comments:
This poem was inspired by the brave Steve, and all that I have put him through.

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